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LEONARDO  LOREDANO. 


-Makers  of  Venice. 


THE 

MAKERS  OF  VENICE 

DOGES,  CONQUEROES,  PAINTEES 

AND 

MEN  OF  LETTERS. 


By  MRS.  OLIPHANT, 

Author  of  "The  Makers  of  Florence." 
WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  R.  R.  HOLMES,  F.S.A. 


Sia  benedeta  sta  Venezia  mia 

E  sto  popolo  quieto,  alegro  e  san. 

Me  sento  un  vodo  in  cuor  se  stago  via, 

Sento  el  solito  mal  de  risolan 
Benedeto  Samarco  e  le  putele 

Che  zira  in  piazza  a  ingelosir  le  stele, 
Benedeto  el  sirocco  che  ne  afana, 

E  la  nostra  fiacona  veneziana. 

Bime  Veneziane,  Sabfattl 


NEW   YORK: 

A.  L.  BURT,  PUBLISHER. 


k 


^       l^'^ 


GIFT 


\  C|  00 


TO 
ELIZABETH  LADY  CLONCURRY, 

AND 

EMMA  FITZMAURICE, 

KIND     AND     DEAR     COMPANIONS 
OF  MANY  A  VENETIAN  RAMBLE, 

THIS    BOOK    IS    INSCRIBED. 


M633346 


INTRODUCTION. 

Venice  has  long  borne  in  the  imagination  of  the  world 
a  distinctive  position,  sometliing  of  tlie  character  of  a 
great  enchantress,  a  magician  of  the  seas.  Her  growth 
between  the  water  and  the  sky  ;  her  great  palaces,  solid  and 
splendid,  built,  so  to  speak,  on  nothing  ;  the  wonderful 
glory  of  light  and  reflection  about  her  ;  the  glimmer  of  in- 
cessant brightness  and  movement ;  the  absence  of  all  those 
harsh,  artificial  sounds  wliich  vex  the  air  in  other  towns, 
but  which  in  her  are  replaced  by  harmonies  of  human 
voices,  and  by  the  liquid  tinkle  of  the  waves — all  these  un- 
usual characteristics  combine  to  make  her  a  wonder  and  a 
prodigy.  While  there  are  scarcely  any  who  are  unmoved 
by  her  special  charm,  there  are  some  who  are  entirely  sub- 
dued by  it,  to  whom  the  sight  of  her  is  a  continual  en- 
chantment, and  who  never  get  beyond  the  sense  of  some- 
thing miraculous,  the  rapture  of  the  first  vision.  Not 
only  does  she  *^  shine  where  she  stands,^'  which  even  the 
poorest  cluster  of  human  habitations  will  do  in  the  light 
of  love  :  but  all  those  walls,  with  the  mist  of  ages  like  a 
bloom  of  eternal  youth  upon  them — all  those  delicate  pin- 
nacles and  carven-stones,  the  arches  and  the  pillars  and  the 
balconies,  the  fretted  outlines  that  strike  against  the  sky — 
shine  too  as  with  a  light  within  that  radiates  into  the  clear 
sea-air  ;  and  every  ripple  on  the  great  water-way,  and  every 
wave  on  the  lagoon,  and  each  little  rivulet  of  a  canal,  like 
a  line  of  light  between  the  piles  of  masonry,  which  are 
themselves  built  of  pearl  and  tints  of  ocean  shells,  shines 
too  with  an  ever-varied,  fantastic,  enchanting  glimmer  of 
responsive  brightness.  In  the  light  of  summer  mornings 
in  the  glow  of  winter  sunsets,  Venice  stands  out  upon  the 
blue  background,  the  sea  that  brims  upward  to  her  very 
doors,  the  sky  that  sweeps  in  widening  circles  all  around. 


vi  INTRODTICTION. 

radiant  with  an  answering  tone  of  light.  She  is  all  wonder, 
enchantment,  the  brightness  and  the  glor}^  of  a  dream. 
Her  own  children  cannot  enough  paint  her,  praise  her, 
celebrate  her  splendors :  and  to  outdo  if  possible  that 
patriotic  enthusiasm  has  been  the  effort  of  many  a  stranger 
from  afar. 

When  the  present  writer  ventured  to  put  upon  record 
some  of  the  impressions  which  medi8eval  Florence  has  left 
upon  history,  in  the  lives  and  deeds  of  great  men^  the 
work  was  comparatively  an  easy  one — for  Florence  is  a  city 
full  of  shadows  of  the  great  figures  of  the  past.  The  trav- 
eler cannot  pass  along  her  streets  without  treading  in  the 
very  traces  of  Dante,  without  stepping  upon  soil  made 
memorable  by  footprints  never  to  be  effaced.  We  meet 
them  in  the  crowded  ways — the  cheerful  painters  singing 
at  their  work,  the  prophet-monk  going  to  torture  and  exe- 
cution, the  wild  gallants  with  their  carnival  ditties,  the 
crafty  and  splendid  statesman  who  subjugated  the  fierce 
republic.  Faces  start  out  from  the  crowd  wherever  we  turn 
our  eyes.  The  greatness  of  the  surroundings,  the  palaces, 
churches,  frowning  mediaeval  castles  in  the  midst  of  the 
city,  are  all  thrown  into  the  background  by  the  greatness, 
the  individuality,  the  living  power  and  vigor  of  the  men 
who  are  their  originators,  and,  at  the  same  time,  their  in- 
spiring soul. 

But  when  we  turn  to  Venice  the  effect  is  very  different. 
After  the  bewitchment  of  the  first  vision,  a  chill  falls  upon 
the  inquirer.  Where  is  the  poet,  where  the  prophet,  the 
princes,  the  scholars,  the  men  whom,  could  we  see,  we 
should  recognize  wherever  we  met  them,  with  wliom  the 
whole  world  is  acquainted?  They  are  not  here.  In  the 
sunshine  of  the  Piazza,  in  the  glorious  gloom  of  San  Marco, 
in  the  great  council-chambers  and  offices  of  state,  once  so 
full  of  busy  statesmen,  and  great  interests,  there  is  scarcely 
a  figure  recognizable  of  all,  to  be  met  with  in  the  spirit — 
no  one  whom  we  look  for  as  we  walk,  whose  individual 
footsteps  are  traceable  wherever  we  turn.  Instead  of  the 
men  who  made  her  what  she  is,  who  ruled  her  with  so  high 
a  hand,  who  filled  her  archives  with  the  most  detailed  nar- 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

ratives,  and  gleaned  throughout  the  world  every  particular 
of  universal  history  which  could  enlighten  and  guide  her, 
we  find  everywhere  the  great  image — an  idealization  more 
wonderful  than  any  in  poetry — of  Venice  herself,  the 
crowned  and  reigning  city,  the  center  of  all  their  aspirations 
the  mistress  of  their  affections,  for  whom  those  haughty 
patricians  of  an  older  day,  with  a  proud  self-abnegation 
which  has  no  humility  or  sacrifice  in  it,  effaced  themselves, 
thinking  of  nothing  but  her  glory.  It  is  a  singular  tribute 
to  pay  to  any  race,  especially  to  a  race  so  strong,  so  full  of 
life  and  energy,  loving  power,  luxury,  and  pleasantness  as 
few  other  races  have  done;  yet  it  is  true.  When  Byron 
swept  with  superficial,  yet  brilliant  eyes,  the  roll  of  Venetian 
history,  what  did  he  find  for  the  uses  of  his  verse?  Noth- 
ing but  two  old  men,  one  condemned  for  his  own  fault,  the 
other  for  his  son's,  remarkable  chiefly  for  their  misfortunes 
— symbols  of  the  wrath  and  the  feebleness  of  age,  and  of 
ingratitude  and  bitter  fate.  This  was  all  which  the  rapid 
observer  could  find  in  the  story  of  a  power  which  was  once 
supreme  in  the  seas,  the  arbiter  of  peace  and  war  through 
all  the  difficult  and  dangerous  East,  the  first  defender  of 
Christendom  against  the  Turk,  the  first  merchant,  banker, 
carrier,  whose  emissaries  were  busy  in  all  the  councils  and 
all  the  markets  of  the  world.  In  her  records  the  city  is 
everything — the  republic,  the  worshiped  ideal  of  a  com- 
munity in  which  every  man  for  the  common  glory  seems  to 
have  been  willing  to  sink  his  own.  Her  sons  toiled  for  her 
each  in  his  vocation,  not  without  personal  glory,  far  from 
indifferent  to  personal  gain,  yet  determined  above  all  that 
Venice  should  be  great,  that  she  should  be  beautiful  above 
all  the  thoughts  of  other  races,  that  her  power  and  her 
splendor  should  outdo  every  rival.  The  impression  grows 
upon  the  student,  whether  he  penetrates  no  further  than 
the  door-ways  of  those  endless  collections  of  historic  docu- 
ments which  make  the  archives  of  Venice  important  to  all 
the  world,  and  in  which  lie  the  records  of  immeasurable 
toil,  the  investigations  of  a  succession  of  the  keenest 
observers,  the  most  subtle  politicians  and  statesmen ;  or 
whether  he  endeavors   to   trace   more  closely  the  growth 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

and  development  of  the  republic,  the  extension  of  her  rule, 
the  perfection  of  her  economy.  In  all  of  these,  men  of  the 
noblest  talents,  the  most  intense  vigor  and  energy,  have 
labored.  The  records  give  forth  the  very  hum  of  a 
crowd;  they  glow  with  life,  with  ambition,  with  strength, 
with  every  virile  and  potent  quality  :  but  all  directed  to 
one  aim.  Venice  is  the  outcome — not  great  names  of  in- 
dividual men. 

The  Tuscans  also  loved  their  great  and  beautiful  city, 
but  they  loved  her  after  a  different  sort.  Perhaps  the 
absence  of  all  those  outlets  to  the  seas  and  traffic  with  the 
wider  world  which  molded  Venetian  character,  gave  the 
strain  of  a  more  violent  personality  and  fiercer  passions  to 
their  blood.  They  loved  their  Florence  for  themselves, 
desiring  an  absolute  sway  over  her,  and  to  make  her  their 
own — unable  to  tolerate  any  rivalry  in  respect  to  her, 
turning  out  upon  the  world  every  competitor,  fighting  to 
be  first  in  the  city,  whatever  might  happen.  The  Vene- 
tians, with  what  seems  a  finer  purpose  in  a  race  less  grave, 
put  Venice  first  in  everything.  Few  were  the  fuori-usciti, 
the  political  exiles,  sent  out  from  the  city  of  the  sea.  Now 
and  then  a  general  wlio  had  lost  a  battle — in  order  that 
all  generals  might  be  thus  sharply  reminded  that  the 
republic  tolerated  no  failures — would  be  thrust  forth  into 
the  wilderness  of  that  dark  world  which  was  not  Venice; 
but  no  feud  so  great  as  that  which  banished  Dante  ever 
tore  the  city  asunder,  no  such  vicissitudes  of  sway  ever 
tormented  her  peace.  A  grand  and  steady  aim,  never 
abandoned,  never  even  lost  sight  of,  rnns  through  every 
page  of  her  story  as  long  as  it  remains  the  story  of  a 
living  and  independent  power. 

Perhaps  the  comparative  equality  of  the  great  houses 
which  figure  on  the  pages  of  the  golden  book  of  Venice 
may  have  had  something  to  do  with  this  result.  Their 
continual  poise  and  balance  of  power,  and  all  the  wonder- 
ful system  of  checks  and  restraints  so  skillfully  combined 
to  prevent  all  possibility  of  the  predominance  of  one 
family  over  the  other,  would  thus  have  attained  a  success 
which  suspicion  and  jealously  have    seldom    secured,  and 


INTRODUGTIOK.  ix 

which,  perhaps,  may  be  allowed  to  obliterate  the  memory 
of  such  sentiments,  and  make  us  think  of  them  as  wisdom 
and  honorable  care.  As  in  most  human  affairs,  no  doubt 
both  the  greater  and  the  lesser  motives  were  present,  acd 
the  determination  of  each  man  that  his  neighbor  shoula 
have  no  chance  of  stepping  on  to  a  higher  level  than  hiri- 
self,  combined  with,  and  gave  a  keen  edge  of  persoiial 
feeling  to  his  conviction  of  the  advantages  of  the  oligarch- 
ical-democratic government  which  suited  the  genius  of  the 
people,  and  made  the  republic  so  great.  Among  the 
Contarinis,  Morosinis,  Tiepolos,  Dandolos,  the  Corners 
and  Loredans,  and  a  host  of  others  whose  names  recur 
with  endless  persistency  from  first  to  last  through  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  national  career,  alternating  in  all  the 
highest  offices  of  state,  there  was  none  which  was  ever 
permitted  to  elevate  itself  permanently,  or  come  within 
sight  of  a  supreme  position.  They  kept  each  other  down 
even  while  raising  each  other  to  the  fullness  of  an  aristo- 
cratic sway  which  has  never  been  equaled  in  Christendom. 
And  the  ambition  which  could  never  hope  for  such  pre- 
dominance as  the  Medici,  the  Visconti,  the  Scaligeri 
attained  in  their  respective  cities,  was  thus  entirely  de- 
voted to  the  advancement  of  the  community,  the  greater 
power  and  glory  of  the  state.  What  no  man  could  secure 
for  himself  or  his  own  house,  all  men  could  do,  securing 
their  share  in  the  benefit,  for  Venice.  And  in  generous 
minds  this  ambition,  taking  a  finer  flight  than  is  possible 
when  personal  aggrandizement  lies  at  the  heart  of  the 
effort,  became  a  passion — the  inspiring  principle  of  the 
race.  For  this  they  coursed  the  seas,  quenching  the 
pirate  tribes  that  threatened  their  trade,  less  laudably 
seizing  the  towns  of  the  coast,  the  islands  of  the  sea  which 
interfered  with  their  access  to  their  markets  in  the  East. 
For  this  they  carried  fire  and  flame  to  the  mainland,  and 
snatched  from  amid  the  fertile  fields  the  supremacy  of 
Padua  and  Treviso,  and  many  a  landward  city,  making 
their  seaborn  nest  into  the  governing  head  of  a  great 
province;  an  object  which  was  impersonal,  giving  license 
as  well  as  force  to  their  purpose,  and  relieving  their  con- 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

sciences  from  the  guilt  of  turning  Crusades  and  missionary 
enterprises  alike  into  wars  of  conquest.  Whatever  their 
tyrannies,  as  whatever  their  hard-won  glories  might  be, 
they  were  all  for  Venice,  and  only  in  a  secondary  and  sub- 
sidiary sense  for  themselves. 

The  same  principle  has  checked  in  other  ways  that  flow 
of  individual  story  with  which  Florence  has  enriched  the 
records  of  the  world.  Nature  at  first,  no  doubt,  must 
bear  the  blame,  who  gave  no  Dante  to  the  state  which 
perhaps  might  have  prized  him  more  highly  than  his  own; 
but  the  same  paramount  attraction  of  the  idealized  and 
sovereign  city,  in  which  lay  all  their  pride,  turned  the 
early  writers  of  Venice  into  chroniclers,  historians, 
diarists,  occupied  in  collecting  and  recording  everything 
that  concerned  their  city,  and  indifferent  to  individuals, 
devoted  only  to  the  glory  and  the  story  of  the  state.  In 
later  days  this  peculiarity  indeed  gave  way,  and  a  hundred 
piping  voices  rise  to  celebrate  the  decadence  of  the  great 
republic;  but  by  tliat  time  she  has  ceased  to  be  a  noble 
spectacle,  and  luxury  and  vice  have  come  in  to  degrade  the 
tale  into  one  of  endless  pageantry  deprived  of  all  meaning 
— no  longer  the  proud  occasional  triumphs  of  a  conquer- 
ing race,  but  the  perpetual  occupation  of  a  debased  and 
corrupted  people.  To  the  everlasting  loss  of  the  city  and 
mankind  there  was  no  Vasari  in  Venice.  Messer  Giorgio, 
with  his  kindly  humorous  eyes,  peered  across  the  peninsula, 
through  clouds  of  battle  and  conflict  always  going  on,  and 
perhaps  not  without  a  mist  of  neighborly  depreciation 
in  themselves,  perceived  far  off  the  Venetian  men  and 
their  works  who  were  thought  great  painters — a  rival 
school  in  competition  with  his  own.  He  was  not  near 
enough  to  discover  what  manner  of  men  the  two  long- 
lived  brothers  Bellini,  or  the  silent  Carpaccio,  with  his 
beautiful  thoughts,  or  the  rest  of  the  busy  citizens  who 
filled  churches  and  chambers  with  a  splendor  as  of  their 
own  resplendent  air  and  glowing  suns,  might  be.  An  in- 
finite loss  to  us  and  to  the  state,  yet  completing  the  senti- 
ment of  the  consistent  story,  which  demands  all  forVenice: 
but  for  the  individual  whose  works  are  left  behind   him  to 


INTRODUCTION.  li 

her  glory,  his  name  inscribed  upon  her  records  as  a  faith- 
ful servant,  and  no  more. 

Yet  when  we  enter  more  closely  into  the  often-repeated 
narrative,  transmitted  from  one  hand  to  another  till  each 
chronicler,  with  sharp,  incisive  touches,  or  rambling  in 
garrulous  details,  has  brought  it  down  to  his  own  time  and 
personal  knowledge,  this  severity  relaxes  somewhat.  The 
actors  in  the  drama  break  into  groups,  and  with  more  or 
less  difficuly  it  becomes  possible  to  discover  here  and  there 
how  a  change  came  about,  how  a  great  conquest  was  made, 
how  the  people  gathered  to  listen,  and  how  a  doge,  an 
orator,  a  suppliant  stood  up  and  spoke.  We  begin  to 
discern,  after  long  gazing,  how  a  popular  tumult  would 
spring  up,  and  all  Venice  dart  into  fire  and  flame  ;  and 
how  the  laws  and  institutions  grew  which  controlled  that 
possibility,  and  gradually,  with  the  enforced  assent  of  the 
populace,  bound  them  more  securely  than  ever  democracy 
was  bound  before,  in  the  name  of  freedom.  And  among 
the  fire  and  smoke,  and  through  the  mists,  we  come  to 
perceive  here  and  there  a  noble  figure — a  blind  old  doge, 
with  white  locks  streaming,  with  sightless  eyes  aflame, 
running  his  galley  ashore,  a  mark  for  all  the  arrows  ;  or 
another  standing,  a  gentler,  less  prominent  image  between 
the  pope  and  the  emperor;  or  with  deep  eyes,  all  hallowed 
with  age  and  thought,  and  close-shut  mouth,  as  in  that 
portrait  Bellini  had  made  for  us,  facing  a  league  of  monarchs 
undaunted,  for  Venice  against  the  world.  And  though 
there  is  no  record  of  that  time  when  Dante  stood  within 
the  red  walls  of  the  arsenal,  and  saw  the  galleys  making 
and  mending,  and  the  pitch  fuming  up  to  heaven — as  all 
the  world  may  still  see  them  through  his  eyes — yet  a  milder 
scholarly  image,  a  round  smooth  face,  with  cowl  and  garland 
looks  down  upon  us  from  the  gallery,  all  blazing  with 
crimson  and  gold,  between  the  horses  of  San  Marco,  a 
friendly  visitor,  the  best  we  could  have,  since  Dante  left  no 
sign  behind  him,  and  probably  was  never  heard  of  by  the 
magnificent  Signoria.  Petrarch  stands  there,  to  be  seen 
by  the  side  of  the  historian-doge,  as  long  as  Venice  lasts  : 
but  not  much  of  him,  only  a  glimpse,  as  is  the  Venetian 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

way,  lest  in  contemplation  of  the  poet  we  should  for  a 
moment  forget  the  Republic,  his  hostess  and  protector — 
Venice,  the  all-glorious  mistress  of  the  seas,  the  first  object, 
the  unrivalled  sovereign  of  her  children^'s  thoughts  and 
hearts. 


CONTENTS. 

PART  I.— THE  DOGES. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Paqb. 
TheOrseoli 1 

CHAPTER  II. 
TheMichieU 30 

CHAPTER  III. 
Enrico  Dandolo ..    54 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Pietro  Gradenigo^Change  of  the  Constitution ,  79 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Doges  Disgraced 105 

PART  1I.~BY  SEA  AND  BY  LAND. 

CHAPTER  I. 
The  Travelers;  Niccolo,  Matteo  and  Marco  Polo 125 

CHAPTER  IL 
A  Popular  Hero 149 

CHAPTER  III. 
Soldiers  of  Fortune — Carmagnola 187 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Bartolommeo  CoUeoni 228 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

PART  III.— THE  PAINTEKS. 

CHAPTER  I. 
The  Three  Early  Masters = 240 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  Second  Generation 267 

CHAPTER  III. 
Tintoretto. , 299 

PAET  IV.— MEN  OE  LETTERS. 

CHAPTER  I. 
The  Guest  of  Venice 316 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  Historians 337 

CHAPTER  III. 
Aldus  and  the  Aldines 366 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE. 

Leonardo  Loredano Front. 

S   Peter's  Cliair:  San  Pietro  in  Castello To  face      5 

Interior  of  the  CatLedral  of  Torcello "  20 

Bishop's  Throne,  Torcello 21 

Stone  Shutters,  Cathedral,  Torcello 26 

Shrine  of  Orseoli  "  II  Santo." 29 

Bronze  Horses  on  the  Facade  of  S.  Marco To  face    34 

The  Cemetery  Island ^ **  52 

Arms  of  the  Michieli 52 

High  Altar  of  S.  Marco To  face    63 

Doorway,  San  Marco '*  73 

Arms  of  Dandolo 78 

Arms  of  Gradenigo , 84 

Ponte  Del  Paradiso To  face    94 

Near  the  Santi  Apostoli **        110 

Arms  of  Faliero , 113 

Arms  of  Foscari 124 

Departure  of  Marco  Polo:  From  an  Hluminated  Manuscript  in 

the  Bodleian 125 

Doorway,  Marco  Polo's  House 133 

Inscription  on  Pillar  in  Arsenal,  the  First  Erected 148 

Fondamenta  Zen To  face  172 

Doorway  of  Ruined  Chapel  of  the  Servi **       207 

Sword  Hilt. 210 

Coffin  in  the  Church  of  the  Frari 227 

Colleoni To  face  230 

Pozzo 239 

Gateway  of  the  Abrazia  Delia  Misericordia To  face  244 

Cloisters  of  the  Abrazia "        251 

Portrait  of  Sultan:  Gentile  Bellin\ "        257 

Angel  from  Carpaccio 259 

Ursula  Receiving  Her  Bridegroom;  From  Carpaccio To  face  260 


X vi  LIST  OF  ILL  U8TRA TI0N8. 

PAGE 

Head  of  St.  George 261 

Out  of  the  Grand  Canal To  face  272 

Group  of  Heads:  Gentile  Bellini 280 

Murano  and  San  Micliele , To  face  289 

Group  of  Heads:  Gentile  Bellini 290 

Head  from  Titian's  Tomb.  Believed  to  be  F.  Paolo  Sarpi 295 

Knocker 297 

Palazzo  Camello:   House  of  Tintoretto To  face  300 

Palazzo  Camello:   House  of  Tintoretto **        305 

The  Courtyard  of  Palazzo  Camello "        311 

Knocker:  Palazzo  Da  Ponte 314 

Courtyard.     Side  Canal Toface  322 

CampoDiS.Vio "       327 

Canareggio **       338 

Cloisters  of  S.  Gregorio **       350 

Gateway  of  S.  Gregorio "       864 

Near  San  Biagio "       376 


THE  MAKERS  OE  VENICE. 


PART  I. 
THE    DOGES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  OKSEOLI. 


The  names  of  the  doges,  though  so  important  in  the  old 
chronicles  of  the  republic,  which  are  in  many  cases  little 
more  than  a  succession  of  Vifm  Dticicm,  possess  individually 
few  associations  and  little  significance  to  the  minds  of  the 
strangers  who  gaze  upon  the  long  line  of  portraits  under  the 
cornice  of  the  hall  of  the  great  council,  without  pausing  with 
special  interest  on  any  of  them,  save  perhaps  on  that  cor- 
ner where,  conspicuous  by  its  absence,  the  head  of  Marino 
Faliero  ought  to  be.  The  easy  adoption  of  one  figure,  by 
no  means  particularly  striking  or  characteristic,  but  which 
served  the  occasion  of  the  poet  without  giving  him  too 
much  trouble,  has  helped  to  throw  the  genuine  historical 
importance  of  a  very  remarkable  succession  of  rulers  into 
obscurity.  But  this  long  line  of  sovereigns,  sometimes  the 
guides,  often  the  victims,  of  the  popular  will,  stretching 
back  with  a  clearer  title  and  more  comprehensible  history 
than  that  of  most  dynasties,  into  the  vague  distances  of  old 
time,  is  full  of  interest ;  and  contaijis  many  a  tragic  episode 
as  striking  and  more  significant  than  that  of  the  aged  prince 
whose  picturesque  story  is  the  one  most  generally  known. 
There  are,  indeed,  few  among  them   who   have   been  pub- 


2  THE  MAKKRS  OF  VENICE. 

licly  branded  with  the  name  of  traitor  ;  but,  at  least  in  the 
earlier  chapters  of  the  great  civic  history,  there  are  many 
examples  of  a  popular  struggle  and  a  violent  death  as  there 
are  of  the  quiet  ending  and  serene  magnificence  which  seem 
fitted  to  the  age  and  services  of  most  of  those  who  have 
risen  to  that  dignity.  They  have  been  in  many  cases  old 
men,  already  worn  in  the  service  of  their  country,  most  of 
them  tried  by  land  and  sea — mariners,  generals,  legislators, 
fully  equipped  for  all  the  vaiious  needs  of  a  sovereignty 
whose  dominion  was  the  sea,  yet  which  was  at  the  same 
time  weighted  with  all  the  vexations  and  dangers  of  a  con- 
tinental rule.  Their  elevation  was,  in  later  times,  a  crown- 
ing honor,a  sort  of  dignified  retirement  from  the  ruder  labors 
of  civic  use ;  but,  in  the  earlier  ages  of  the  republic  this 
was  not  so,  and  at  all  times  it  was  a  most  dangerous  post, 
and  one  whose  occupant  was  most  likely  to  pay  for  popular 
disappointments,  to  run  the  lisk  of  all  the  conspiracies, 
and  to  be  hampered  and  hindered  by  jealous  counselors, 
and  the  continual  inspection  of  suspicious  spectators.  To 
change  the  doge  was  always  an  expedient  by  which  Venice 
could  propitiate  fate  and  turn  tlie  course  of  fortune  ;  and 
the  greatest  misfortunes  recorded  in  her  chronicles  are 
those  of  her  princes,  whose  names  were  to-day  acclaimed  to 
all  the  echoes,  their  paths  strewed  with  flowers  and  carpeted 
with  cloth  of  gold,  but  to-morrow  insulted  and  reviled,  and. 
themselves  exiled  or  murdered,  all  services  to  tiie  state  not- 
withstanding. Sometimes,  no  doubt,  the  overthrow  was 
well  deserved,  but  in  other  instances  it  can  be  set  down  to 
nothing  but  popular  caprice.  To  the  latter  category  be- 
longs the  story  of  the  family  of  the  Orseoli,  which,  at  the 
very  outset  of  authentic  history,  sets  before  us  at  a  touch 
the  early  economy  of  Venice,  the  relations  of  the  princes 
and  the  people,  the  enthusiasms,  the  tumults,  the  gusts  of 
popular  caprice,  as  well  as  the  already  evident  predominance 
of  a  vigorous  aristocracy,  natural  leaders  of  the  people. 
The  history  of  this  noble  family  has  the  advantage  of  being 
set  before  us  by  the  first  distinct  contemporary  narrative, 
that  of  Giovanni  Sagornino — John  the  Deacon,  John  of 
Venice,  as  he  is  fondly  termed  by  a  recent  historian.     The 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  3 

incidents  of  this  period  of  power,  or  at  least  of  that  of  the 
two  first  princes  of  the  name,  incidents  full  of  importance 
in  the  history  of  the  rising  repnblic,  are  the  first  that  stand 
forth,  out  of  the  mist  of  nameless  chronicles,  as  facts  which 
were  seen  and  recorded  by  a  trustworthy  witness. 

The  first  Orseolo  came  into  power  after  a  popular  tumult 
of  the  most  violent  description,  which  took  the  throne  and 
his  life  from  the  previous  doge,  Pietro  Candiano.  This 
event  occurred  in  the  year  976,  when  such  scenes  were 
not  unusual  even  in  regions  less  excitable.  Candiano  was 
the  fourth  doge  of  his  name,  and  had  been  in  his  youth 
associated  with  his  father  in  the  supreme  authority — but 
in  consequence  of  his  rebellion  and  evil  behavior  had  been 
displaced  and  exiled,  his  life  saved  only  at  the  prayer  of 
the  old  doge.  On  the  death  of  his  father,  however,  the 
young  prodigal  had  been  acclaimed  dog  by  the  rabble. 
In  this  capacity  he  had  done  much  to  disgust  and  alarm 
the  sensitive  and  proud  republic.  Chief  among  his 
offenses  was  the  fact  that  he  had  acquired,  through  his  wife, 
continental  domains  which  required  to  be  kept  in  sub- 
jection by  means  of  a  body  of  armed  retainers,  dangerous 
for  Venice  :  and  he  was  superbissimo  from  his  youth  up, 
and  had  given  frequent  offense  by  his  arrogance  and  ex- 
actions. Upon  what  occasion  it  was  that  the  popular  pa- 
tience failed  at  last  we  are  not  told,  but  only  that  a  sudden 
tumult  arose  against  him,  a  rush  of  general  fury.  When 
the  enraged  mob  hurried  to  the  ducal  palace  they  found 
that  the  doge  had  fortified  himself  there,  upon  which  they 
adopted  the  primitive  method  of  setting  fire  to  the  sur- 
rounding buildings.  Tradition  asserts  that  it  was  from 
the  house  of  Pietro  Orseolo  that  the  fire  was  kindled,  and 
some  say  by  his  suggestion.  It  would  seem  that  the  crowd 
intended  only  to  burn  some  of  the  surrounding  houses  to 
frighten  or  smoke  out  the  doge  :  but  the  wind  was  high, 
and  the  ducal  palace,  with  the  greater  part  of  San  Marco, 
which  was  then  merely  the  ducal  chapel,  was  consumed, 
along  with  all  the  houses  stretching  upward  along  the 
course  of  the  Grand  Canal  as  far  as  Santa  Maria  Zobenigo. 
This  sudden  conflagration  lights  up,  in    the   daikness   of 


4  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

that  distant  age,  a  savage  scene.  The  doge  seized  in  his 
arms  his  young  child,  whether  with  the  hope  of  saving  it 
or  of  saving  himself  by  means  of  that  shield  of  innocence, 
and  made  his  way  out  of  his  burning  liouse,  through  the 
church  which  was  also  burning  though  better  able,  prob- 
ably, to  resist  the  flames.  But  when  he  emerged  from  the 
secret  passages  of  San  Marco  he  found  that  the  crowd  had 
anticipated  him,  and  that  his  way  was  barred  on  every  side 
by  armed  men.  The  desperate  fugitive  confronted  the 
multitude,  and  resorted  to  that  method  so  often  and  some- 
times so  unexpectedly  successful  with  the  masses.  In  the 
midst  of  the  fire  and  smoke,  surrounded  by  those  threat- 
ening fierce  countenances,  with  red  reflections  glittering 
in  every  sword  and  lance-point,  reflected  over  again  in  the 
sullen  water,  he  made  a  last  appeal.  They  had  banished 
him  in  his  youth,  yet  had  relented  and  recalled  him  and 
made  him  doge.  Would  they  burn  him  out  now,  drive 
him  into  a  corner,  kill  him  like  a  wild  beast.  And  sup- 
posing even  that  he  was  worthy  of  death,  what  had  the 
child  done,  an  infant  who  had  never  sinned  against  them  ? 
This  scene,  so  full  of  fierce  and  terrible  elements,  the 
angry  roar  of  the  multitude,  the  blazing  of  the  fire  behind 
that  circle  of  tumult  and  agitation,  the  wild  glare  in  the 
sky,  and  amid  all,  the  one  soft  infantine  figure  held  up  in 
the  father's  despairing  arms — might  afford  a  subject  for  a 
powerful  picture  in  the  long  succession  of  Venetian 
records  made  by  art. 

When  this  tragedy  had  ended,  by  the  murder  of  both^ 
father  and  child,  the  choice  of  the  city  fell  upon  Pietro 
Orseolo  as  the  new  doge.  An  ecclesiastical  historian  of 
the  time  speaks  of  his  ^'  wicked  ambition  '"  as  instrumental 
in  the  downfall  of  his  predecessor  and  of  his  future  works 
of  charity  as  dictated  by  remorse ;  but  we  are  disposed  to 
hope  that  this  is  merely  said,  as  is  not  uncommon  in 
religious  story,  to  enhance  the  merits  of  his  conversion. 
The  secular  chroniclers  are  unanimous  in  respect  to  his 
excellence.  He  was  a  man  in  everything  the  contrary  of 
the  late  doge — a  man  laudato  di  tutti^  approved  of  all  men 
— and  of  whom  nothing  but  good   was  known.     Perhaps 


8.  PBTKR'S  chair:  SAN  PIETRO  in  CASTBU/0. 


TH1£  MAKERS  OF  VENTGV!.  5 

if  he  had  any  share  in  the  tumult  which  ended  in  the 
murder  of  Candiano,  his  conscience  may  liave  made  a  crime 
of  it  when  the  hour  of  conversion  came  ;  but  certainly  in 
Venice  there  would  seem  to  have  been  no  accuser  to  say  a 
word  against  him.  In  the  confusion  of  the  great  fire  and 
the  disorganization  of  the  city,  *^  contaminated "  by  the 
murder  of  the  prince,  and  all  the  disorders  involved, 
Orseolo  was  forced  into  the  uneasy  seat  whose  occupant 
was  sure  to  be  the  first  victim  if  the  affairs  of  Venice  went 
wrong.  His  first  act  was  to  remove  the  insignia  of  his 
office  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  doge's  palace  to  his  own  house, 
wliich  was  situated  upon  the  Riva  beyond  and  adjacent  to 
the  home  of  the  doges.  It  is  difficult  to  form  to  ourselves 
an  idea  of  the  aspect  of  the  city  at  this  early  period. 
Venice,  though  already  great,  was  in  comparison  with  its 
after  appearance  a  mere  village,  or  rather  a  cluster  of 
villages,  straggling  along  the  sides  of  each  muddy,  marshy 
island,  keeping  the  line  of  the  broad  and  navigable  water- 
way, in  dots  of  building  and  groups  of  houses  and  churches, 
from  the  olive-covered  isle  where  San  Pietro,  the  first 
great  church  of  the  city,  shone  white  among  its  trees,  along 
the  curve  of  the  Canaluccio  to  the  Rialto-^Rive-AIto,  what 
Mr.  Ruskin  calls  the  deep  stream,  where  the  church  of 
San  Giacomo,  another  central  spot,  stood,  with  its  group 
of  dwellings  round — no  bridge  then  dreamed  of,  but  a 
ferry  connecting  the  two  sides  of  the  Grand  Canal. 
Already  the  stir  of  commerce  was  in  the  air,  and  the  big 
sea-going  galleys,  with  their  high  bulwarks,  lay  at  the  rude 
wharfs,  to  take  in  outward-bound  cargoes  of  salt,  salt-fish, 
wooden  furniture,  bowls,  and  boxes  of  home  manufacture, 
as  well  as  the  goods  brought  from  northern  nations,  of 
which  they  were  the  merchants  and  carriers — and  come 
back  laden  with  the  riches  of  the  East — with  wonderful 
tissues  and  carpets,  and  marbles  and  relics  of  the  saints. 
The  palace  and  its  chapel,  the  shrine  of  San  Marco,  stood 
where  they  still  stand,  but  there  were  no  columns  on  the 
Piazzetta,  and  the  Great  Piazza  was  a  piece  of  waste  land 
belonging  to  the  nuns  at  San  Zaccaiia,  which  was,  as  one 
might  say,  the  parish  church.     Most  probably  this  vacant 


6  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

space  in  the  days  of  the  first  Orseolo,  was  little  more  than 
a  waste  of  salt-water  grasses,  and  sharp  and  acrid  plants 
like  those  that  now  flourish  in  such  rough  luxuriance  on 
the  Lido — or  perhaps  boasted  a  tree  or  two,  a  patch  of 
cultivated  ground.  Such  was  the  scene — very  different 
from  the  Venice  of  the  earliest  pictures,  still  more  different 
from  that  we  know.  But  already  the  lagoon  was  full  of 
boats,  and  the  streets  of  commotion,  and  Venice  grew  like 
a  young  plant,  like  the  quick-spreading  vegetation  of  her 
own  warm,  wet  marshes,  day  by  day. 

The  new  doge  proceeded  at  once  to  rebuild  both  the 
palace  and  the  shrine.  The  energy  and  vigor  of  the  man 
who,  with  that  desolate  and  smoking  mass  of  ruin  around 
him — three  hundred  houses  burned  to  the  ground  and  all 
their  forlorn  inhabitants  to  house  and  care  for — could  yet 
address  himself  without  a  pause  to  the  reconstruction  on 
the  noblest  scale  of  the  great  twin  edifices,  the  glorious 
dwelling  of  the  saint,  the  scarcely  less  cared-for  palace  of 
the  governor,  the  representative  of  law  and  order  in  Venice, 
has  something  wonderful  in  it.  He  was  not  rich,  and 
neither  was  the  city,  which  had  in  the  midst  of  this  dis- 
aster to  pay  the  dower  of  the  Princess  Valdrada,  the  widow 
of  Candiano,  whose  claims  were  backed  by  the  Emperor 
Otto,  and  would  if  refused  have  brought  upon  the  repub- 
lic all  the  horrors  of  war.  Orseolo  gave  up  a  great  part  of 
his  own  patrimony,  however,  to  the  rebuilding  of  the 
church  and  palace  ;  eight  thousand  ducats  a  year  for  eighty 
yearH  (the  time  which  elapsed  before  its  completion),  says 
the  old  records,  he  devoted  to  this  noble  and  pious  purpose, 
and  sought  far  and  near  for  the  best  workmen,  some  of 
whom  came  as  far  as  from  Constantinople,  the  metropolis 
of  all  the  arts.  How  far  the  walls  had  risen  in  his  day,  or 
how  much  he  saw  accomplished,  or  heard  of  before  the  end 
of  his  life,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  But  one  may  fancy  how, 
amid  all  the  toils  of  the  troubled  state,  while  he  labored 
and  pondered  how  to  get  that  money  together  for  Valdrada, 
and  pacify  the  emperor  and  herother  powerful  friends,  and 
how  to  reconcile  all  factions,  and  heal  all  wounds,  and 
house  wore  humbly  his  poor  burned-out  giti^ens^  the  sight 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  7 

from  his  windows  of  those  fair  solid  walls,  rising  out  of  the 
ruins,  must  have  comforted  his  soul.  Let  us  hope  he  saw 
the  round  of  some  lower  arch,  the  rearing  of  some  pillar,  a 
pearly  marble  slab  laid  on,  or  at  least  the  carved  work  on 
the  basement  of  a  column  before  he  went  away. 

The  historian  tells  us  that  it  was  Orseolo  also  who  or- 
dered from  Constantinople  the  famous  Pala  d'oro,  the 
wonderful  gold  and  silver  work  which  still  on  high  days 
and  festas  is  disclosed  to  the  eyes  of  the  faithful  on  the 
great  altar,  one  of  the  most  magnificent  ornaments  of  San 
Marco.  It  is  a  pity  that  inquisitive  artist  and  antiquaries 
with  their  investigations  have  determined  this  work  to  be 
at  least  two  centuries  later,  but  Sagornino,  who  was  the 
doge's  contemporary,  could  not  have  foreseen  the  work  of  a 
later  age,  so  that  he  must  certainly  refer  to  some  former 
tabulam  miro  opere  ex  argento  et  auro,  which  Orseolo  in  his 
magnificence  added  to  his  other  gifts.  Nor  did  the  doge 
confine  his  bounty  to  these  great  and  beautiful  works.  If 
the  beauty  of  Venice  was  dear  to  him,  divine  charity  was 
still  more  dear.  Opposite  the  rising  palace,  where  now 
stands  the  Libreria  Vecchia,  Orseolo,  taking  advantage  of  a 
site  cleared  by  the  fire,  built  a  hospital,  still  standing  in  the 
time  of  Sabellico,  who  speaks  of  it  as  the  *^  8pedale,  il 
quale  e  sopra  la  Piazza  dii'impetto  al  Palazzo,"  and  where, 
according -to  the  tale,  he  constantly  visited  and  cared  for 
the  sick  poor. 

It  must  have  been  while  still  in  the  beginning  of  all  these 
great  works,  but  already  full  of  many  cares,  the  Candiano 
faction  working  against  him,  and  perhaps  but  little  re- 
sponse coming  from  the  people  to  whom  he  was  sacrificing 
his  comfort  and  his  life,  that  Orseolo  received  a  visit  which 
changed  the  course  of  his  existence.  Among  the  pilgrims 
who  came  from  all  quarters  to  the  shrine  of  the  evangelist, 
a  certain  French  abbot,  Carinus  or  Guarino,  of  the  monas- 
tery of  St.  Michael  de  Cusano,  in  Aquitaine,  arrived  in 
Venice.  It  was  Orseolo's  custom  to  have  all  such  pious  visi- 
tors brought  to  his  house  and  entertained  there  during  their 
stay,  and  he  found  in  Abbot  Guarino  a  congenial  soul. 
They  talked  together  of  all  things  in   heaven   and  earth. 


8  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

and  of  this  wonderful  new  Venice  rising  from  the  sea,  with 
all  her  half-built  churches  and  palaces  ;  and  of  the  holy 
relics  brought  from  every  coast  for  her  enrichment  and 
sanctification,  the  bodies  of  the  saints  which  made  almost 
every  church  a  sacred  shrine.  And  no  doubt  the  cares  of 
the  doge's  troubled  life,  the  burdens  laid  on  him  daily,  the 
threats  of  murder  and  assassination  with  which,  instead  of 
gratitude,  his  self-devotion  was  received,  were  poured  into 
the  sympathetic  (^ar  of  the  priest,  who  on  his  side  drew  such 
pictures  of  the  holy  peace  of  monastic  life,  the  tranquillity 
and  blessed  privations  of  the  cloister,  as  made  the  heart  of 
the  doge  to  burn  within  him.  '^If  thou  wouldst be  per- 
fect"— said  the  abbot,  as  on  another  occasion  a  greater 
voice  had  said.  '^  Oh,  benefactor  of  my  soul!"  cried  the 
doge,  beholding  a  vista  of  wq'n  hope  opening  before  him, 
a  halcyon  world  of  quiet,  a  life  of  sacrifice  and  prayer.  He 
had  already  for  years  lived  like  a  monk,  putting  all  the  in- 
dulgences of  wealth  and  even  affection  aside.  For  the 
moment,  however,  he  had  too  many  occupations  on  his 
hands  to  make  retirement  possible.  He  asked  for  a  year 
in  which  to  arrange  his  affairs  ;  to  put  order  in  the  republic 
and  liberate  himself.  With  this  agreement  the  abbot  left 
him,  but  true  to  his  engagement,  when  the  heats  of  Sep- 
tember were  once  more  blazing  on  the  lagoon,  came  back 
to  his  penitent.  The  doge  in  the  meantime  had  made  all 
his  arrangements.  No  doubt  it  was  in  this  solemn  year, 
which  no  one  knew  was  to  be  the  end  of  his  life  in  the 
world,  that  he  set  aside  so  large  a  part  of  his  possessions 
for  the  prosecution  of  the  buildings  which  now  he  could  no 
longer  hope  to  see  completed.  When  all  these  prelimi- 
naries were  settled,  and  everything  done,  Orseolo,  witha 
chosen  friend  or  two,  one  of  them  his  son-in-law,  the 
sharer  of  his  thoughts  and  his  prayers,  took  boat  silently 
one  night  across  the  still  lagoon  to  Fusina,  where  horses 
awaited  them,  and  so  flying  in  the  darkness  over  the  main- 
land abandoned  the  cares  of  the  princedom  and  the  world. 
Of  the  chaos  that  was  left  behind,  the  consternation  of 
the  family,  the  confusion  of  the  state,  the  record  says  noth- 
ing.    This  was  not  the  view  of  the  matter  which  occurred 


TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  9 

to  the  primitive  mind.  We  are  apt  to  think  with  repro- 
bation, perhaps  too  strongly  expressed,  of  the  cowardice  of 
duties  abandoned,  and  the  cruelty  of  ties  broken.  But  in 
the  early  ages  no  one  seems  to  have  taken  this  view.  The 
sacrifice  made  by  a  prince,  who  gave  up  power  and  freedom 
and  all  the  advantages  of  an  exalted  position,  in  order  to 
accept  privation  and  poverty  for  the  love  of  God,  was  more 
perceptible  then  to  the  general  intelligence  than  the  higher 
self-denial  of  supporting,  for  the  love  of  God,  the  labors 
and  miseries  of  his  exalted  but  dangerous  oflice.  The  tu- 
mult and  commotion  which  followed  the  flight  of  Orseolo 
were  not  mingled  with  blame  or  reproach.  The  doge,  in 
the  eyes  of  his  generation,  chose  the  better  part,  and  offered 
a  sacrifice  with  which  God  Himself  could  not  but  be  well 
pleased. 

He  was  but  fifty  when  he  left  Venice,  having  reigned  a 
little  over  two  years.  Guarino  placed  his  friend  under  the 
spiritual  rule  of  a  certain  stern  and  holy  man,  the  saintly 
Romoaldo,  in  whose  life  and  legend  we  find  the  only  record 
of  Pietro  Orseolo's  latter  days.  St.  Romoaldo  was  the 
founder  of  the  order  of  the  Camaldolites,  practicing  in  his 
own  person  the  greatest  austerity  of  life,  and  imposing  it 
upon  his  monks,  to  whom  he  refused  even  the  usual  relaxa- 
tion of  better  fare  on  Sunday,  which  had  beeti  their  privilege. 
The  noble  Venetians,  taken  from  the  midst  of  their  liberal 
and  splendid  life,  were  set  to  work  at  the  humble  labors  of 
husbandmen  upon  tliis  impoverished  diet.  He  who  had 
been  the  Doge  Pietro  presently  found  that  he  was  incapable 
of  supporting  so  austere  a  rule.  ^MVherefore  he  humbly 
laid  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  blessed  Romoaldo,  and  being 
bidden  to  rise  with  shame  confessed  his  weakness.  **  Father  " 
he  said,  **  as  I  have  a  great  body,  I  cannot  for  my  sins  sus- 
tain my  strength  with  this  morsel  of  hard  bread.''  Romo- 
aldo, having  compassion  on  the  frailty  of  his  body,  added 
another  portion  of  biscuit  to  the  usual  measure,  and  thus 
held  out  the  hand  of  pity  to  the  sinking  brother.  The 
comic  pathos  of  the  complaint  of  the  big  Venetian,  bred 
amid  the  freedom  of  the  seas,  and  expected  to  live  and 
work  upon  half  a  biscuit,  is  beyond  comment. 


10  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

He  lived  many  years  in  the  humility  of  conventual  sub- 
jection, and  died,  apparently  without  any  advancement  in 
religious  life,  in  the  far  distance  of  France,  never  seeing 
his  Venice  again.  In  after  years,  his  son,  who  was  only 
fifteen  at  the  period  of  the  doge's  flight,  and  who  was  des- 
tined in  his  turn  to  do  so  much  for  Venice,  visited  his 
father  in  his  obscure  retirement.  The  meeting  between 
tlie  almost  too  generous  father,  who  had  given  so  much  to 
Venice,  and  had  completed  the  offering  by  giving  up  him- 
self at  last  to  the  hard  labors  and  humility  of  monastic  life 
— and  the  ambitious  youth  full  of  the  highest  projects  of 
patriotism  and  courage,  must  have  been  a  remarkable  scene. 
The  elder  Pietro  in  his  cloister  had  no  doubt  pondered 
much  on  Venice  and  on  the  career  of  the  boy  whom  he 
had  left  behind  him  there,  and  whose  character  and  qual- 
ities must  have  already  shown  themselves;  and  much  was 
said  between  them  on  this  engrossing  subject.  Orseolo, 
'^  whether  by  the  spirit  of  prophecy  or  by  special  revelation 
predicted  to  him  all  that  was  to  happen.  ^  I  know,'  he  said, 
'  my  son,  that  they  will  make  you  doge,  and  that  you  will 
prosper.  Take  care  to  preserve  the  rights  of  the  church, 
and  those  of  your  subjects.  Be  not  drawn  aside  from  doing 
justice,  either  by  love  or  by  hate.'''  Better  counsel  could 
no  fallen  monarch  give — and  Orseolo  was  happier  than 
many  fathers  in  a  son  worthy  of  him. 

The  city  deprived  of  such  a  prince  was  very  sad,  but  still 
more  full  of  longing  :  "  Molto  trista  ma  pin  desiderosa,^' 
says  Sabellico  ;  and  his  family  remained  dear  to  Venice — 
for  as  long  as  popular  favor  usually  lasts.  Pietro  died 
nineteen  years  after  'a\  the  odor  of  sanctity,  and  was 
canonized,  to  the  glory  of  his  city.  His  hreve,  the  in- 
scription under  his  portrait  in  the  great  hall  attributes  to 
him  the  building  of  San  Marco,  as  well  as  many  miracles 
and  wonderful  works.  The  miracles,  however,  were  per- 
formed far  from  Venice,  and  have  no  place  in  her  records, 
except  those  deeds  of  charity  and  tenderness  which  he 
accomplished  among  his  people  before  he  left  them. 
These  the  existing  corporation  of  Venice,  never  unwilling 
to  chronicle  either  a  new  or  antique   glory,  have   lately 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  11 

celebrated  by  an  inscription,  which  the  traveler  will  see 
from  the  little  bay  in  which  the  canal  terminates,  just  be- 
hind the  upper  end  of  the  Piazza.  This  little  triangular 
opening  among  the  tall  houses  is  called  theBacino  Orseolo, 
and  bears  a  marble  tablet  to  the  honor  of  the  first  Pietro 
of  this  name,   '^  il  santo"  high  up  upon  the  wall. 

In  the  agitation  and  trouble  caused  by  Orseolo's  unex- 
pected disappearance,  a  period  of  discord  and  disaster 
began.  A  member  of  the  Candiano  party  was  placed  in 
the  doge^s  seat  for  a  short  and  agitated  reign,  and  he  was 
succeeded  by  a  rich  but  feeble  prince  in  whose  time  occurred 
almost  the  worst  disorders  that  have  ever  been  known  in 
Venice — a  bloody  struggle  between  two  families,  one  of 
which  had  the  unexampled  baseness  of  seeking  the  aid 
against  their  native  city  of  foreign  arms.  The  only  in- 
cident which  we  need  mention  of  this  disturbed  period  is 
that  the  Doge  Mem  mo  bestowed  upon  Giovanni  Morosini, 
Orseolo's  companion  and  son-in-law,  who  had  returned  a 
monk  to  his  native  city — perhaps  called  back  by  the  mis- 
fortunes of  his  family — a  certain  '^beautiful  little  ishmd 
covered  with  olives  and  cypresses,"  which  lay  opposite  the 
doge's  palace,  and  is  known  now  to  every  visitor  of  Venice 
as  St.  Georgio  Maggiore.  There  was  already  a  chapel 
dedicated  to  St.  George  among  the  trees. 

Better  things,  however,  were  now  in  store  for  the  re- 
public. After  the  incapable  Memmo,  young  Pietro  was 
called,  according  to  his  father's  prophecy,  to  the  ducal 
throne.  **  When  the  future  historian  of  Venice  comes  to 
the  deeds  of  this  great  doge  he  will  feel  his  soul  enlarged,'' 
says  Sagredo.  the  author  of  a  valuable  study  of  Italian  law 
and  economics  ;  ''  it  is  no  more  a  new-born  people  of 
whom  he  will  have  to  speak,  but  an  adult  nation,  rich  con- 
quering, full  of  traffic  and  wealth."  The  new  prince  had 
all  the  qualities  which  were  wanted  for  the  consolidation 
and  development  of  the  republic.  He  had  known  some- 
thing of  that  bitter  but  effectual  training  of  necessity 
which  works  so  nobly  in  generous  natures.  His  father's 
brief  career  in  Venice,  and  his  counsels  from  his  cell,  were 
before  him,  both  as  example  and  encouragement.     He  had 


12  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

been  in  France ;  he  had  seen  tlie  world.  He  had  an  eye 
to  mark  that  the  moment  had  come  for  largei  action  and 
bolder  self-assertion,  and  he  had  strength  of  mind  to  carry 
his  conceptions  out.  And  he  had  that  touching  advantage 
— the  stepping-stone  of  a  previous  life  sacrificed  and  un- 
fulfilled— upon  which  to  raise  the  completeness  of  his  own. 
In  short,  he  was  the  man  of  the  time,  prepared  to  carry 
out  the  wishes  and  realize  the  hopes  of  his  age  ;  and  when 
he  became,  at  the  age  of  thirty,  in  the  fullness  of  youth- 
ful strength,  the  first  magistrate  of  A^enice,  a  new  chapter 
of  her  history  began. 

It  was  in  the  year  991,  on  the  eve  of  a  new  century, 
sixteen  years  after  his  father's  abdication,  that  the  second 
Pietro  Orseolo  began  to  reign.  The  brawls  of  civil  conten- 
tion disappeared  on  his  accession,  and  the  presence  of  a 
prince  who  was  at  the  same  time  a  strong  man  and  fully 
determined  to  defend  and  extend  his  dominion,  became 
instantly  apparent  to  the  world.  His  first  acts  were 
directed  to  secure  the  privileges  of  Venice  by  treaty  with 
the  emperors  of  the  East  and  West,  establishing  her 
position  by  written  charater  under  the  golden  seal  of 
Constantinople,  and  with  not  less  efficacy  from  the  im- 
perial chancellorship  of  the  German  Otto.  On  both  sides 
an  extension  of  privilege  and  the  remission  of  certain 
tributes  were  secured.  Having  settled  this,  Pietro  turned 
his  attention  to  the  great  necessity  of  the  moment,  upon 
which  the  very  existence  of  the  republic  depended.  Up 
to  this  time  Venice,  to  free  herself  from  the  necessity  of 
holding  the  rudder  in  one  hand  and  the  sword  in  the  other, 
had  paid  a  certain  blackmail,  such  as  was  exacted  till 
recent  time  by  the  corsairs  of  Africa,  to  the  pirate  tribes, 
who  were  the  scourge  of  the  seas,  sometimes  called 
Narentani,  sometimes  Schiavoni  and  Croats,  by  the 
chroniclers,  allied  bands  of  sea-robbers  who  infested  the 
Adriatic.  The  time  had  come,  however,  when  it  was  no 
longer  seemly  that  the  proud  city,  growing  daily  in  power 
and  wealth,  should  stoop  to  secure  her  safety  by  such 
means  The  payment  was  accordingly  stopped,  and  an 
encounter  followed,  in  which   the  pirates  were  defeated. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  13 

Enraged  but  impotent,  not  daring  to  attack  Venice,  or 
risk  their  galleys  in  the  intricate  channels  of  the  lagoons, 
they  set  upon  the  unoffending  towns  of  Dalmatia,  and 
made  a  raid  along  the  coast,  robbing  and  ravaging.  The 
result  was  that  from  all  the  neighboring  seaboard  ambas- 
sadors arrived  in  haste,  asking  the  help  of  the  Venetians. 
The  cruelties  of  the  corsairs  had  already,  more  than  once, 
reduced  the  seaports  and  prosperous  cities  of  this  coast  to 
the  point  of  desperation,  and  they  caught  at  the  only 
practicable  help  with,  the  precipitancy  of  suffering.  The 
doge  thus  found  the  opportunity  he  sought,  and  took 
advantage  of  it  without  a  moment's  delay.  At  once  the 
arsenal  was  set  to  work,  and  a  great  armata  decided  upon. 
The  appeal  thus  made  by  the  old  to  the  new,  the  ancient 
cities  wliich  had  been  in  existence  while  she  was  but  a 
collection  of  swamp  and  salt-water  marshes  seeking  deliver- 
ance from  the  new-born  miraculous  city  of  the  sea,  is  the 
most  striking  testimony  to  the  growing  importance  of 
Venice.  It  was  at  tlie  same  time  her  opportunity  and  the 
beginning  of  her  conquests  and  victories. 

When  the  great  expedition  was  ready  to  set  out,  the  doge 
went  in  solemn  state  to  the  cathedral  church  of  San  Pietro 
in  Castello,  and  received  from  the  hands  of  the  bishop  the 
standard  of  San  Marco,  with  which  he  went  on  board. 
It  was  spring  when  the  galleys  sailed,  and  Dandolo  tells  us 
that  they  were  blown  by  contrary  winds  to  Grado,  where 
Vitale  Candiano  was  now  peacefully  occupying  his  see  as 
patriarch.  Perhaps  something  of  the  old  feud  still  sub- 
sisting made  Orseolo  unwilling  to  enter  the  port  in  which 
the  son  of  the  murdered  doge,  whom  his  own  father  had 
succeeded,  was  supreme.  But  if  this  had  been  the  case, 
his  doubts  must  have  soon  been  set  at  rest  by  the  patriarch's 
welcome.  He  came  out  to  meet  the  storm-driven  fleet 
with  his  clergy  and  his  people,  and  added  to  the  armament 
not  only  his  blessing,  but  the  standard  of  S.  Ilermagora 
to  bring  them  victory.  Thus  endowed,  with  the  two 
blessed  banners  blowing  over  them,  the  expedition  set  sail 
once  more.  The  account  of  the  voyage  that  follows  is  for 
some  time  that  of  a  kind  of  royal  progress  bv    sea,  thp 


14  THE  MAKEnS  OF  VENICE. 

galleys  passing  in  trinmph  from  one  port  to  another, 
anticipated  by  processions  coming  out  to  meet  them,  bishops 
with  their  clergy  streaming  forth,  and  all  the  citizens,  pri- 
vate and  public,  hurrying  to  offer  their  allegiance  to  tlieir 
defenders.  Wherever  holy  relics  were  enshrined,  the  doge 
landed  to  visit  them  and  pay  his  devotions  :  and  every- 
where he  was  met  by  ambassadors  tendering  the  submis- 
sion of  another  and  another  town  or  village,  declaring 
themselves  ^'  willingly  '^  subjects  of  the  republic,  and  en- 
rolling their  young  men  among  its  soldiers.  That  this 
submission  was  not  so  real  as  it  appeared  is  proved  by  the 
subsequent  course  of  events  and  the  perpetual  rebellions  of 
those  cities  ;  but  in  their  moment  of  need  nothing  but 
enthusiasm  and  delight  were  apparent  to  the  deliverers. 
At  Trau  a  brother  of  the  Sclavonian  king  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  doge  and  sought  his  protection,  giving  up 
his  son  Stefano  as  a  hostage  into  the  hands  of  the  conquer- 
ing prince. 

At  last,  having  cleared  the  seas,  the  expedition  came  to 
the  nest  of  robbers  itself,  the  impregnable  city  of  Lagosta. 
^'  It  is  said,"  Sabellico  reports  with  a  certain  awe,  ^'  that 
its  position  was  pointed  out  by  the  precipices  on  each  side 
rising  up  in  the  midst  of  the  sea.  The  Narenti  trusted  in 
its  strength,  and  here  all  the  corsairs  took  refuge,  when 
need  was,  as  in  a  secure  fortress."  The  doge  summoned 
the  garrison  to  surrender,  which  they  would  gladly  have 
done,  the  same  historian  informs  us,  had  they  not  feared 
the  destruction  of  their  city  ;  but  on  that  account,  ''for 
love  of  their  country,  than  which  there  is  nothing  more 
dear  to  men,"  they  made  a  stubborn  defense.  Dandolo 
adds  that  the  doge  required  the  destruction  of  this  place  as 
a  condition  of  peace.  After  a  desperate  struggle  the  for- 
tress was  taken,  notwithstanding  the  natural  strength  of 
the  rocky  heights — the  asprezza  de^  luoghi  nelV  ascendere 
difficile — and  of  the  Rocca  or  great  tower  that  crowned  the 
whole.  The  object  of  the  expedition  was  fully  accomplished 
when  the  pirates'  nest  and  stronghold  was  destroyed 
''For  nearly  a  hundred  and  sixty  years  the  possession  of 
the   sea  had   been  contested  with  varying  fortune,"   novr 


TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  15 

once  for  all  the  matter  was  settled.  '^  The  army  returned 
victorious  to  the  ships.  The  prince  had  purged  tlie  sea  of 
robbers,  and  all  the  maritime  parts  of  Istria,  of  Liburnia 
and  of  Dalmatia,  were  brought  under  the  power  of  Venice.'' 
With  what  swelling  sails,  con  vento  prosper o,  the  fleet  must 
have  swept  back  to  the  anxious  city  which,  with  no  post 
nor  despatch  boat  to  carry  her  tidings,  gazed  silent,  wait- 
ing in  that  inconceivable  patience  of  old  times,  with  anxious 
eyes  watching  the  horizon!  How  the  crowds  must  have 
gathered  on  the  old  primitive  quays  when  the  first  faint 
rumor  flew  from  Malamocco  and  the  other  sentinel  isles  of 
sails  at  hand!  How  many  boats  must  have  darted  forth, 
their  rowers  half  distracted  with  haste  and  suspense,  to 
meet  the  returning  armata  and  know  the  worst!  Who  can 
doubt  that  then,  as  always,  there  were  some  to  whom  the 
good  news  brought  anguish  and  sorrow  ;  but  of  that  the 
chroniclers  tell  us  nothing.  And  among  all  our  supposed 
quickening  of  life  in  modern  times,  can  we  imagine  a 
moment  of  living  more  intense,  or  sensations  more  acute, 
than  those  with  which  the  whole  city  must  have  watclied, 
one  by  one,  the  galleys  bearing  along  with  their  tokens  of 
victory,  threading  their  way,  slow  even  with  the  most  pros- 
perous wind,  through  the  windings  of  the  narrow  channels, 
until  the  first  man  could  leap  on  shore  and  the  wonderful 
news  be  told? 

'*  There  was  then  no  custom  of  triumphs,"  says  the  rec- 
ord, "but  the  doge  entered  the  city  triumphant,  sur- 
rounded by  the  grateful  people ;  and  there  made  public 
declaration  of  all  the  things  he  had  done — how  all  Istria 
and  the  seacoast  to  the  furthest  confines  of  Dalmatia  with 
all  the  neighboring  islands  by  the  clemency  of  God  and  the 
success  of  the  expedition,  were  made  subject  to  the  Venetian 
dominion.  With  magnificent  words  he  was  applauded  by 
the  great  council,  which  ordained  that  not  only  of  Venice 
but  of  Dalmatia  he  and  his  successors  should  be  proclaimed 
doge/' 

Thus  the  first  great  conquest  of  the  Venetians  was  ac- 
complished, and  the  infant  city  made  mistress  of  the   seas. 

It  was  on  the  return  of  Pietro  Orseolo  from  this  trium- 


16  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

phant  expedition,  and  in  celebration  of  his  conquests,  that 
the  great  national  festivity,  called  in  after  days  the  espousal 
of  the  sea,  the  Feast  of  La  Sensa,  Ascension  Day,  was  first 
instituted.  The  original  ceremony  was  simpler  but  little 
less  imposing  than  its  later  development.  The  clergy  in  a 
barge  all  covered  with  cloth  of  gold,  and  in  all  possible 
glory  of  vestments  and  sacred  ornaments,  set  out  from 
among  the  olive  woods  of  San  Pietro  in  Castello,  and  met 
the  doge  in  his  still  more  splendid  barge  at  the  Lido  : 
where,  after  litanies  and  psalms,  the  bishop  rose  and.  prayed 
aloud  in  the  hearing  of  all  the  people,  gathered  in  boat 
and  barge  and  every  skiff  that  would  hold  water,  in  a  far- 
extending  crowd  along  the  sandy  line  of  the  flat  shore. 
'^  Grant,  0  Lord;  that  this  sea  may  be  to  us  and  to  all  who 
sail  npon  it  tranquil  and  quiet.  To  this  end  we  pray. 
Hear  us,  good  Lord."  Then  the  boat  of  the  ecclesiastics 
approached  closely  the  boat  of  the  doge,  and  while  the 
singers  intoned  '' Aspergi  me,  0  Signor,'^  the  bishop 
sprinkled  the  doge  and  his  court  with  holy  water,  pouring 
what  remained  into  the  sea.  A  very  touching  ceremonial, 
more  primitive  and  simple,  perhaps  more  real  and  likely  to 
go  to  the  hearts  of  the  seafaring  population  all  gathered 
round,  than  the  more  elaborate  and  triumphant  histrionic 
spectacle  of  the  Sposalizio.  It  had  been  on  Ascension  Day 
that  Orseolo's  expedition  had  set  forth,  and  no  day  could 
be  more  suitable  than  this  victorious  day  of  early  summer, 
when  nature  is  at  her  sweetest,  for  the  great  festival  of  the 
lagoons. 

These  victories  and  successes  must  have  spread  the  name 
of  the  Venetians  and  their  doge  far  and  wide  ;  and  it  is 
evident  that  they  had  moved  the  imagination  of  the  young 
Emperor  Otto  IL;  between  whom  and  Orseolo  a  link  of 
union  had  already  been  formed  through  the  doge's  third 
son,  who  had  been  sent  to  the  court  at  Verona  to  receive 
there  the  sacramento  della  cJirisma,  the  rite  of  confirma- 
tion, under  the  auspices  of  the  emperor,  who  changed  the 
boy's  name  from  Pietro  to  Otto,  in  sign  of  high  favor  and 
affection.  When  the  news  of  the  conquest  of  Dalmatia, 
the  extinctioa  of  the  pirates,  aud  all  the  doge's  great 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  17 

achievements  reached  the  emperor's  ears,  his  desire  to  know 
so  remarkable  a  man  grew  so  strong  that  an  anonymous 
visit  was  phmned  between  them.  Under  the  pretext  of 
taking  sea-baths  at  an  obscure  ishmd.  Otto  made  a  sudden 
and  secret  dash  across  the  sea  and  readied  tlie  convent  of 
San  Servolo,  on  the  ishmd  which  still  bears  that  name,  and 
which  is  now  one  of  the  two  melancholy  asylums  for  the 
insane  which  stand  on  either  side  of  the  water-way  oppo- 
site Venice.  The  doge  hurried  across  the  water  as  soon  as 
night  had  come,  to  see  his  imperial  visitor^  and  brought 
him  back  topay  his  devotions,  *' according  to  Otto's  habit," 
at  the  shrine  of  San  Marco.  Let  us  hope  the  moon  was 
resplendent,  as  she  knows  how  to  be  over  these  waters, 
when  the  doge  brought  the  emperor  over  the  shining 
lagoon  in  what  primitive  form  of  gondola  was  then  in 
fashion,  with  the  dark  forms  of  the  rowers  standing  out 
against  the  silvery  background  of  sea  and  sky,  and  the 
little  waves  in  a  thousand  ripples  of  light  reflecting  the 
glory  of  the  heavens.  One  can  imagine  the  nocturnal  visit, 
the  hasty  preparations  ;  and  the  great  darkness  of  San 
Marco,  half  built,  with  all  its  scaffoldings  ghostly  in  the 
silence  of  the  night,  and  one  bright  illuminated  spot, 
the  hasty  blaze  of  the  candles  flaring  about  the  shrine. 
When  the  emperor  had  said  his  prayers  before  the  sacred 
spot  which  contained  the  body  of  the  evangelist,  the  pa- 
tron of  Venice,  he  was  taken  into  the  palace,  which  filled 
him  with  wonder  and  admiration,  so  beautiful  was  the 
house  which  out  of  the  burning  ruins  of  twenty  years  be- 
fore had  now  apparently  been  completed.  It  is  said  by 
Sagornino  (the  best  authority)  that  Otto  was  secretly 
lodged  in  the  eastern  tower,  and  from  thence  made  private 
expeditions  into  the  city,  and  saw  everything  ;  but  later 
chroniclers,  probably  deriving  these  details  from  traditional 
sources,  increase  the  romance  of  the  visit  by  describing 
him  as  recrossing  to  San  Servolo,  whither  the  doge  would 
steal  off  privately  every  night  to  sup  domesticainente  with 
his  guest.  In  one  of  the  night  visits  to  San  Marco  tlie 
doge's  little  daughter,  newly  born,  was  christened,  the 
emperor  himself  holding  her  at  the  font,     Perhaps  thig 


18  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

little  domestic  circumstance  which  disabled  her  serenity 
the  dogaressa,  had  something  to  do  with  the  secrec}'  of  the 
visit,  which  does  not  seem  sufficiently  accounted  for,  un- 
less, as  some  opine,  the  emperor  wanted  secretly  to  consult 
Orseolo  on  great  plans  which  he  did  not  live  to  carry  out: 
Three  days  after  Otto's  departure  the  doge  called  the  peo- 
ple together,  and  informed  them  of  the  visit  he  had  re- 
ceived, and  further  concessions  and  privileges  which  he 
had  secured  for  Venice.  ^'  Which  things,"  says  the  record, 
^'  were  pleasant  to  them,  and  they  applauded  the  industry 
of  Orseolo  in  concealing  the  presence  of  so  great  ajord/' 
Here  it  is  a  little  difficult  to  follow  the  narrator.  It  would 
be  more  natural  to  suppose  that  the  Venetians,  always  fond 
of  a  show,  might  have  shown  a  little  disappointment  at 
being  deprived  of  tiie  sight  of  such  a  fine  visitor.  It  is 
said  by  some,  however,  that  to  celebrate  the  great  event, 
and  perhaps  make  up  to  the  people  for  not  having  seen  the 
emperor,  a  tournament  of  several  days'  duration  was  held 
by  Orseolo  in  the  waste  ground  which  is  now  the  Piazza. 
At  all  events  the  incident  only  increased  his  popularity. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  honor  which  came  to  his  house. 
Some  time  after  the  city  of  Bari  was  saved  by  Orseolo's  arms 
and  valor  from  an  invasion  of  the  Saracens  ;  and  the  grate- 
ful emperors  of  the  East,  Basil  and  Constantine,  by  way  of 
testifying  their  thanks,  invited  the  doge's  eldest  son 
Giovanni  to  Constantinople,  where  he  was  received  with  a 
princely  welcome,  and  shortly  after  married  to  a  princess 
of  the  imperial  house.  When  the  young  couple  returned 
to  Venice  they  were  received  with  extroardinary  honors, 
festivities,  and  delight,  the  doge  going  to  meet  them  with 
a  splendid  train  of  vessels,  and  such  rejoicing  as  had  never 
before  been  beheld  in  Venice.  And  permission  was  given 
to  Orseolo  to  associate  his  son  with  him  in  his  authority — 
a  favor  only  granted  to  those  whom  Venice  most  delighted 
to  honor,  and  which  was  the  highest  expression  of  popular 
confidence  and  trust. 

^*  But  since  there  is  no  human  happiness  which  is  not 
disturbed  by  someadversity,"says  the  sympathetic  clironicle, 
trouble  and  sorrow  now  burst  upon  this  happy   and  pros- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  19 

peroiis  reign.  First  came  a  great  pestilence,  by  which  the 
young  Giovanni,  the  hope  of  the  liouse,  the  newly-appointed 
coadjutor,  was  carried  off  along  with  his  wife  and  infant 
child,  and  which  carried  dismay  and  loss  throughout  the 
city.  Famine  followed  naturally  upon  the  epidemic  and 
the  accompanying  panic,  which  paralyzed  all  exertion — and 
mourning  and  misery  prevailed.  His  domestic  grief  and 
the  public  misfortune  would  seem  to  have  broken  the  heart 
of  the  great  doge.  After  Giovanni's  death  he  was  per- 
mitted to  take  his  younger  son  Otto  as  his  coadjutor,  but 
even  this  did  not  avail  to  comfort  him.  He  made  a  re- 
markable will,  dividing  his  goods  into  two  parts,  one  for 
his  children,  another  for  the  poor,  "for  the  use  and  solace 
of  all  in  our  republic" — a  curious  phrase,  by  some  supposed 
to  mean  entertainments  and  public  pleasures,  by  others  re- 
lief from  taxes  and  public  burdens.  When  he  died  his 
body  was  carried  to  San  Zaccaria,  per.  la  trista  citta  e 
lachrimosa,  with  all  kinds  of  magnificence  and  honor. 
And  Otto  his  son  reigned  in  his  stead. 

Otto,  it  is  evident,  must  have  appeared  up  to  this  time 
the  favorite  of  fortune,  the  flower  of  the  Orseoli.  He  had 
been  half  adopted  by  the  emperor  :  he  had  made  a  mag- 
nificent marriage  with  a  princess  of  Hungary;  he  had  been 
sent  on  embassies  and  foreign  missions;  and  finally,  when 
his  elder  brother  died,  he  had  been  associated  with  his 
father  as  his  coadjutor  and  successor.  He  was  still  young 
when  Pietro's  death  gave  him  the  full  authority  (though 
his  age  can  scarcely  have  been,  as  Sabellico  says,  nineteen). 
His  character  is  said  to  have  been  as  perfect  as  his  position. 
**  He  was  Catholic  in  faith,  calm  in  virtue,  strong  injustice, 
eminent  in  religion,  decorous  in  his  way  of  living,  great  in 
riches,  and  so  full  of  all  kinds  of  goodness  that  by  his  merits 
he  was  judged  of  all  to  be  the  most  fit  successor  of  his  ex- 
cellent father  and  blessed  grandfather,"  says  Doge  Dandolo. 
But  perhaps  these  abstract  virtues  were  not  of  the  kind  to 
fit  a  man  for  the  difficult  position  of  doge,  in  the  midst  of 
a  jealous  multitude  of  his  equals,  all  as  eligible  for  that 
throne  as  he,  and  keenly  on  the  watch  to  stop  any  suc- 
cession which   looked   like  the  beginning  of  a  dynasty. 


20  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Otto  bad  been  much  about  courts;  be  bad  learned  bow 
emperors  were  served;  and  bis  babits,  perbaps,  bad  been 
formed  at  tbat  ductile  time  of  life  wben  be  was 
caressed  as  tbe  godson  of  tlie  imperial  Otto,  and  as  a 
near  connection  of  tbe  still  more  splendid  emperors  of  tbe 
East.  And  it  was  not  only  be,  wbose  preferment  was  a 
direct  proof  of  national  gratitude  to  bis  noble  fatber,  against 
wbom  a  jealous  rival,  a  (perbaps)  anxious  nationalist,  bad 
to  guard.  His  brotber  Orso,  who  during  bis  father's  life- 
time bad  been  made  bishop  of  Torcello,  was  elevated  to 
the  bigberotficeof  patriarcb  and  transferred  toGrado  some 
years  after  his  brotlier's  accession,  so  tbat  tbe  bigbest 
power  and  place,  both  secular  and  sacred,  were  in  the 
bands  of  one  family — a  fact  which  would  give  occasion  for 
many  an  insinuation,  and  leaven  tbe  popular  mind  with 
suspicion  and  alarm. 

It  was  through  the  priestly  brotber  Orso  tbat  the  first 
attack  upon  tbe  family  of  tbe  Orseoli  came.  Otto  had 
reigned  for  some  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  witb  advantage  and 
bonor  to  the  republic,  sbowing  himself  a  wortby  son  of 
his  father,  and  keeping  tbe  autbority  of  Venice  paramount 
along  tbe  unruly  Dalmatian  coast,  where  rebellions  were 
tilings  of  yearly  occurrence,  wben  trouble  first  appeared. 
Of  Orso,  the  patriarch,  up  to  this  time,  little  has  been  heard, 
save  that  it  was  he  who  rebuilt,  or  restored,  out  of  tbe 
remains  of  the  earlier  church,  the  catbedral  of  Torcello, 
still  the  admiration  of  all  beholders.  His  grandfather  bad 
begun,  bis  fatber  had  carried  on,  tbe  great  buildings  of 
Venice,  tbe  church  and  the  palace,  which  tbe  Emperor 
Otto  bad  come  secretly  to  see,  and  which  be  bad  found 
beautiful  beyond  all  imagination.  It  would  be  difficult 
now  to  determine  what  corner  of  antique  work  may  still 
remain  in  that  glorious  group  wbich  is  tbeirs.  But  Orso's 
cathedral  still  stands  distinct,  lifting  its  lofty  walls  over  the 
low  edge  of  green,  which  is  all  that  separates  it  from  tbe 
sea.  His  foot  has  trod  tbe  broken  mosaics  of  tbe  floor;  bis 
voice  has  intoned  canticle  and  litany  under  tbat  lofty  roof. 
Tbe  knowledge  tbat  framed  tbe  present  edifice,  tbe  rever- 
ence wbich  preserved  for  its  decoration   all   those  lovely 


To  face  page  20. 

IKTKBIOR  OF  THE  CATHBDBAL  OF  TOBCBUX). 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


21 


relics  of  earlier  times,  the  delicate  Greek  columns,  the  en- 
richments of  eastern  art — were,  if  not  his,  fostered  and 
protected  by  him.  Behind  the  high  altar,  on  the  bishop's 
high  cold  marble  throne  overlooking  the  great  temple,  he 
must  have  sat  among  his  presbyters,  and  controlled  the 
counsels  and  lod  the  decisions  of  a  community  then  active 


bishop's  throne,  torcello. 


and  ■wealt'hv,  which  has  now  disappeared  as  completely  as 
the  hierarchy  of  priests  which  once  filled  those  rows  of 
stony  benches.  The  ruins  of  the  old  Torcello  are  now  but 
mounds  under  the  damp  grass;  but  Bishop  Orso's  work 
stands  fast,  as  his  name,  in  faithful  brotlierly  allegiance 
and  magnanimous  truth  to  his  trust,  ought  to  stand. 

The  attack    came  from  a   certain  Poppo,  patriarch  of 
Aquileia,  an  ecclesiastic  of  the   most  warlike  mediaeval 


22  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

type,  of  German  extraction  or  race,  who,  perhaps  with  the 
desire  of  reasserting  the  old  supremacy  of  his  See  over  tliat 
of  Grado,  perhaps  stirred  up  by  the  factions  in  Venice, 
which  were  beginning  to  conspire  against  the  Orseoli,  be- 
gan to  threaten  the  seat  of  Bishop  Orso.  The  records  are 
very  vague  as  to  the  means  employed  by  this  episcopal  war- 
I'ior.  He  accused  Orso  before  the  pope  as  an  intruder  not 
properly  elected  ;  but  without  waiting  for  any  decision  on 
tliat  point,  assailed  him  in  his  See.  Possibly  Poppo's 
attack  on  Grado  coincided  with  tumults  in  the  city — 
'^  great  discord  between  the  people  of  Venice  and  the  doge" 
— so  that  both  the  brothers  were  threatened  at  once.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  the  next  event  in  the  history  is  the  flight 
of  both  doge  and  patriarch  to  Istria — an  extraordinary 
event  of  which  no  explanation  is  given  by  any  of  the 
authorities.  They  were  both  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  had 
still  a  great  party  in  their  favor,  so  tliat  it  seems  impossi- 
ble not  to  conjecture  some  weakness,  most  likely  on  the 
part  of  the  Doge  Otto,  to  account  for  this  abandonment  of 
tlie  position  to  their  enemies.  That  there  was  great  an- 
archy and  misery  in  Venice  during  tlie  interval  of  the 
princess  absence  is  evident,  but  how  long  it  lasted,  or  how 
it  came  about,  we  are  not  informed.  All  that  the  chroni- 
clers say  (for  by  this  time  the  guidance  of  Sagornino  has 
failed  us,  and  there  is  no  contemporary  chronicle  to  refer 
to)  concerns  Grado,  which,  \\\  the  absence  of  its  bishop, 
was  taken  by  the  lawless  Poppo.  He  swore  **  by  his  eiglit 
oaths,"  says  Sanudo,  that  he  meant  nothing  but  good  to 
that  hapless  city  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  got  within  the  gates 
gave  it  up  to  the  horrors  of  a  sack,  outraging  its  popula- 
tion and  removing  the  treasure  from  its  churclies.  Venice, 
alarmed  by  this  unmasking  of  the  designs  of  the  clerical 
invader,  repented  her  own  hasty  folly,  and  recalled  her 
doge,  who  recovered  Grado  for-her  with  a  promplitude  and 
courage  which  make  his  flight,  without  apparently  striking 
a  blow  for  himself,  more  remarkable  still.  But  this  re- 
newed prosperity  was  of  short  duration.  The  factions  that 
had  arisen  against  him  were  but  temporarily  quieted,  and 
as  soon  as  Grado  and  peace  were  restored,  broke  out  again. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  23 

The  second  time  Otto  would  not  seem  to  have  had  time  to 
fly.  He  was  seized  by  his  enemies,  his  beard  shaven  off, 
whether  as  a  sign  of  contempt,  or  by  way  of  consigning 
him  to  the  cloister — that  asylum  for  dethroned  princes — we 
are  not  told  :  and  his  reign  thus  ignominiously  and  sud- 
denly brought  to  an  end. 

The  last  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  Orseoli  is,  however, 
the  most  touching  of  all.  Whatever  faults  Otto  may  have 
had  (and  the  clironiclers  will  allow  none),  he  at  least  pos- 
sessed the  tender  love  of  his  family.  The  patriarch,  Orso, 
once  more  followed  him  into  exile;  but  coming  back  as 
soon  as  safety  permitted,  would  seem  to  have  addressed 
himself  to  the  task  of  righting  his  brother.  Venice  had 
not  thriven  upon  her  ingratitude  and  disorder.  A  certain 
Domenico  Centranico,  the  enemy  of  the  Orseoli,  had  been 
hastily  raised  to  the  doge's  seat,  but  could  not  restore  har- 
mony. Things  went  badly  on  all  sidesforthe  agitated  and 
insubordinate  city.  The  new  emperor,  Conrad,  refused  to 
ratify  the  usual  grant  of  privileges,  perhaps  because  he 
had  no  faith  in  the  revolutionary  government.  Poppo 
renewed  his  attacks,  the  Dalmatian  cities  seized,  as  they 
invariably  did,  the  occasion  to  rebel.  And  the  new  doge 
was  evidently,  like  so  many  other  revolutionists,  stronger 
in  rebellion  than  in  defense  of  his  country.  What  with 
these  griefs  and  agitations,  which  contrasted  strongly  with 
the  benefits  of  }ieace  at  home,  and  an  assured  government, 
what  with  the  pleadings  of  the  patriarch,  the  Venetians 
once  more  recognized  their  mistake.  The  changing  of  the 
popular  mind  in  those  days  always  required  a  victim,  and 
Doge  Centranico  was  in  his  turn  seized,  shaven,  and  ban- 
ished. The  ciisis  recalls  the  primitive  chapters  of  Vene- 
tian history,  when  almost  every  reign  ended  in  tumult  and 
murder.  But  Venice  had  learned  the  advantages  of  law 
and  order,  and  the  party  of  the  Orseoli  recovered  power  in 
the  revulsion  of  popular  feeling.  The  dishonored  but 
rightful  doge  was  in  Constantinople,  hiding  his  misfor- 
tunes in  some  cloister  or  other  resort  of  the  exile.  The 
provisional  rulers  of  the  republic  whoever  they  might  be — 
probably  the  chief  supporters  of  the  Orseoli — found  noth- 


24  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ing  so  advantageous  to  still  the  tempest  as  to  implore  the 
Patriarch  Orso  to  fill  his  brother's  place,  while  they  sent  a 
commission  to  Constantinople  to  find  Otto  and  bring  him 
home.  The  faithful  priest  who  had  worked  so  loyally  for 
the  exile  accepted  the  charge,  and  leaving  his  bishopric 
and  its  administration  to  his  deputies,  established  himself 
in  the  palace  where  he  had  been  born,  and  took  the  gov- 
ernment of  Venice  into  his  hands.  It  was  work  to  the 
routine  of  which  he  had  been  used  all  his  life,  and  proba- 
bly no  man  living  was  so  well  able  to  perform  it ;  and  it 
might  be  supposed  that  the  natural  ambition  of  a  Vene- 
tian and  a  member  of  a  family  which  bad  reigned  over 
Venice  for  three  generations  would  stir  even  in  a  church- 
man's veins,  when  he  found  the  government  of  his  native 
state  in  his  hands  ;  for  the  consecration  of  the  priesthood, 
however  it  may  extinguish  all  other  passions,  has  never 
been  known  altogether  to  quench  that  last  infirmity  of  no- 
ble minds. 

Peace  and  order  followed  the  advent  of  the  bishop- 
prince  to  power.  And  meanwhile  the  embassy  set  out, 
with  a  third  brother,  Vitale,  the  bishop  of  Torcello  at  its 
head,  to  prove  to  the  banished  Otto  that  Venice  meant 
well  by  him,  and  that  the  ambassadors  intended  no  treach- 
ery. Whetlier  they  were  detained  by  the  hazards  of  the 
sea,  or  whether  their  time  was  employed  in  searching  out 
the  retirement  where  the  deposed  doge  had  withdrawn  to 
die,  the  voyage  of  the  embassy  occupied  more  than  a  year, 
coming  and  going.  During  these  long  months  Orso  reigned 
in  peace.  Though  he  was  only  vice-doge,  says  Sanudo, 
for  the  justice  of  his  government  he  was  placed  by  the 
Venetians  in  the  catalogue  of  the  doges.  Not  a  word  of 
censure  is  recorded  of  his  peaceful  sway.  The  storm  seems 
changed  to  a  calm  under  the  rule  of  this  faithful  priest. 
In  the  splendor  of  those  halls  which  his  fathers  had  built 
he  watched — over  Venice  on  one  hand,  and  on  the  other 
for  the  ships  sailing  back  across  the  lagoons,  bringing  the 
banished  Otto  home.  How  many  a  morning  must  he  have 
looked  out,  before  he  said  his  mass,  upon  the  rising  dawn, 
and  watched  the  blueness  of  the  skies  and  seas  grow  clear 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  25 

in  tlie  east,  where  lay  his  bishopric,  his  flock,  his  cathe- 
dml,  and  all  the  duties  that  were  his  ;  and  with  anxious 
eyes  swept  the  winding  of  the  level  waters  still  and  gray, 
the  metallic  glimmer  of  the  acqua  morta,  the  navigable 
channels  that  gleamed  between.  When  a  sail  came  in  sight 
between  those  lines,  stealing  up  from  Malamocco,  what 
expectations  must  have  moved  his  heart  I  He  was,  it 
would  appear,  a  little  older  than  Otto,  his  next  brother, 
perhaps  his  early  childish  caretaker,  before  thrones  episco- 
pal or  secular  were  dreamed  of  for  the  boys  :  and  a  priest, 
who  has  neither  wife  nor  children  of  his  own,  has  double 
room  in  his  heart  for  the  passion  of  fraternity.  It  would 
not  seem  that  Orso  took  more  power  upon  him  than  was 
needful  for  the  interests  of  the  people  ;  there  is  no  record 
of  war  in  his  brief  sway.  He  struck  a  small  coin,  una 
moneta  piccola  cVargento,  called  ursiolo,  but  did  nothing 
else  save  keep  peace,  and  preserve  his  brother's  place  for 
him.  But  when  the  ships  came  back,  their  drooping  ban- 
ners and  mourning  array  must  have  told  the  news  long  be- 
fore they  cast  anchor  in  the  lagoon.  Otto  was  dead  in  exile. 
There  is  nothing  said  to  intimate  that  they  had  brought 
back  even  his  body  to  lay  it  with  his  fathers  in  San  Zacca- 
ria.     The  banished  prince  had  found  an  exile's  grave. 

After  this  sad  end  to  his  hopes  the  noble  Orso  showed 
how  magnanimous  aud  disinterested  had  been  his  inspira- 
tion. Not  for  himself,  but  for  Otto  he  had  held  that 
trust.  He  laid  down  at  once  those  honors  which  were 
not  his,  and  returned  to  his  own  charge  and  duties. 
His  withdrawal  closes  the  story  of  the  family  with  a  dig- 
nity and  decorum  worthy  of  a  great  race.  His  disappoint- 
ment, the  failure  of  all  the  hopes  of  the  family,  all  the 
anticipations  of  brotherly  affection,  have  no  record,  but 
who  can  doubt  that  they  were  bitter  ?  Misfortune  more 
undeserved  never  fell  upon  an  honorable  house,  and  it  is 
hard  to  tell  which  is  most  sad — the  death  of  the  deposed 
prince  in  the  solitude  of  that  eastern  world  where  all  was 
alien  to  him,  or,  after  a  brief  resurrection  of  hope,  tho 
withdrawal  of  the  faithful  brother,  his  heart  sick  with  all 
the  wistful  vicissitudes  of  a  baffled  expectation,  to  resume 


26  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

his  bishopric  and  his  life  as  best  he  could.     It  is  a  pathetic 
ending  to  a  noble  and  glorious  day. 

Many  years  after  this  Orso  still  held  his  patriarchate  in 
peace  and  honor,  and  the  name  of  the  younger  brother, 
Vitale,  his   successor   at   Torcello,  appears  as   a  member 


1?^^ 


STONE  SHUTTERS,   CATHEDRAL,    TORCELLO. 

along  with  him  of  an  ecclesiastical  council  for  the  reform 
of  discipline  and  doctrine  in  the  church  ;  while  their  sister 
Felicia  is  mentioned  as  abbess  of  one  of  the  convents  at 
Torcello.  But  the  day  of  the  Orseoli  was  over.  A  mem- 
ber of  the  family,  Domenico,  '*a  near  relation,"  made  an 
audacious  attempt  in  the  agitation  that  followed  the  with- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  27 

drawal  of  Orso  to  seize  the  supreme  power,  and  was  favored 
by  many,  the  chroniclers  say.  But  his  attempt  was  un- 
successful, and  his  unsurpation  lasted  only  a  day.  The 
leader  of  the  opposing  party,  Flabenico,  was  elected  doge  in 
the  reaction,  which  doubtless  tliis  foolish  effort  of  ambition 
stimulated  greatly.  And  perhaps  it  was  tliis  reason  also 
which  moved  the  people,  startled  into  a  new  scare  by  th«ir 
favorite  bugbear  of  dynastic  succession,  to  consent  to  the 
cruel  and  most  ungrateful  condemnation  of  the  Orseoli 
family  which  followed  ;  and  by  which  the  race  was  sen- 
tenced to  be  denuded  of  all  rights,  and  pronounced  in- 
cabable  henceforward  of  holding  any  office  under  the  re- 
public. The  prohibition  would  seem  to  have  been  of  little 
practical  importance,  since  of  the  children  of  Pietro  Or- 
seolo  the  Great  there  remained  none  except  priests  and 
nuns,  whose  indignation  when  the  news  reached  them 
must  have  been  as  great  as  it  was  impotent.  We  may 
imagine  with  what  swelling  hearts  they  must  have  met, 
in  tlie  shadow  of  that  great  sanctuary  which  they  had 
built,  the  two  bishops,  one  of  whom  had  been  doge  in 
Venice,  and  the  abbess  in  her  convent,  with  perhaps  a 
humbler  nun  or  two  of  the  same  blood  behind,  separated 
only  by  the  still  levels  of  the  lagoon,  from  where  the  tow- 
ers and  spires  of  Venice  rose  from  the  bosom  of  the  waters 
— Venice,  their  birth-place,  the  home  of  their  glory,  from 
which  their  race  was  now  shut  out.  If  any  curse  of  Rome 
trembled  from  their  lips,  if  any  appeal  for  anathem  and 
excommunication,  who  could  have  wondered  ?  But,  like 
other  wrongs,  that  great  popular  ingratitude  faded  away, 
and  the  burning  of  the  hearts  of  the  injured  found  no  ex- 
pression. The  three  consecrated  members  of  the  doomed 
family,  perhaps  sad  enough  once  at  the  failure  of  the  suc- 
cession, must  have  found  a  certain  bitter  satisfaction  then, 
in  the  thought  that  their  Otto,  deposed  and  dead,  had  left 
no  child  behind  him. 

But  the  voice  of  history  has  taken  up  the  cause  of  this 
ill-rewarded  race.  The  chroniclers  with  one  voice  pro- 
claim the  honor  of  the  Orseoli,  with  a  visionary  partisanship 
iu  which  the  present  writer  canuot  but  share,  though  ei^ht 


28  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

centuries  have  come  and  gone  since  Venice  abjured  the 
family  which  had  served  her  so  well.  Sabellico  tells  with 
indignant  satisfaction,  that  he  can  find  nothing  to  record 
that  is  worth  the  trouble,  of  Flabenico,  their  enemy,  ex- 
cept that  he  grew  old  and  died.  Non  ragiofiam  di  lor. 
The  insignificant  and  lenvious  rival,  who  brings  ruin  to  the 
last  survivors  of  a  great  race,  is  unworthy  further  com- 
ment. 

Such  proscriptions,  however,  are  rarely  so  successful. 
The  Orseoli  disappear  altogether  from  history,  and  their  name 
during  all  the  historic  ages  scarcely  once  is  heard  again  in 
Venice.  Domenico,  the  audacious  usurper  of  a  day,  died  at 
Kavenna  very  shortly  after.  Even  their  great  buildings, 
with  the  exception  of  Torcello,  have  disappeared  under  the 
splendor  of  later  ornament,  or  more  recent  construction. 
Their  story  has  the  completeness  of  an  epic — they  lived, 
and  ruled,  and  conquered,  and  made  Venice  great.  Under 
their  sway  she  became  the  mistress  of  the  sea.  and  then 
it  was  evident  that  they  had  completed  their  mission,  and 
the  race  came  to  an  end,  receiving  its  dismissal  in  the 
course  of  nature  from  those  whom  it  had  best  served. 
Few  families  thus  recognize  the  logic  of  circumstances; 
they  linger  out  in  paltry  efforts — in  attempts  to  reverse  the 
sentence  pronounced  by  the  ingratitude  of  the  fickle  mob, 
or  any  other  tyrant  with  whom  they  may  have  to  do. 
But  whether  with  their  own  will  or  against  it,  the  Orseoli 
made  no  struggle.  They  allowed  their  story  to  be  com- 
pleted in  one  chapter,  and  to  come  to  a  picturesque  and 
effective  end. 

It  will  be  recognized,  however,  that  Torcello  is  a  power- 
exception  to  the  extinction  of  all  relics  of  the  race.  The 
traveler  as  he  stands  with  something  of  a  sad  respect  of 
pity  mingling  in  his  admiration  of  that  great  and  noble 
cathedral,  built  for  the  use  of  a  populous  and  powerful 
community,  but  now  left  to  a  few  rough  fishermen  and 
pallid  women,  amid  the  low  and  marshy  fields,  a  poor 
standing-ground  among  the  floods — takes  little  thought  of 
him  who  reared  its  lofty  walls,  and  combined  new  and  old 
together  in  so  marvelous  a  conjunction.     Even  the  great- 


THE  MAKKRS  OF  VENICE. 


29 


est  of  all  the  modern  adorers  who  have  idealized  old  Ven- 
ice, and  sung  litanies  to  some  chosen  figures  among  her 
sons,  has  not  a  word  for  Orso,  or  his  race.  And  no  tradi- 
tion remains  to  celebrate  his  name.  But  the  story  of  this 
tender  brother,  the  banished  doge's  defender,  champion, 
substitute,  and  mourner — how  he  reigned  for  Otto,  and 
for  himself  neither  sought  nor  accepted  anything — is 
worthy  of  the  scene.  Greatness  has  faded  from  the  ancient 
commune  as  it  faded  from  the  family  of  their  bishop,  and 
Torcello,  like  the  Orseoli,  may  seem  to  a  fantastic  eye  to 
look,  through  all  the  round  of  endless  days,  wistfully  yet 
with  no  grudge,  across  the  level  waste  of  the  salt  sea  water 
to  that  great  line  of  Venice  against  the  western  sky  which 
has  carried  her  life  away.  The  church,  with  its  marbles 
and  forgotten  inscriptions,  its  mournful  great  Madonna 
holding  out  her  arms  to  all  her  children,  its  profound  lone- 
liness and  sentinelship  through  all  the  ages,  acquires  yet 
another  not  uncongenial  association  when  we  think  of  the 
noble  and  unfortunate  race  which  here  died  out  in  the 
silence  of  the  cloister,  amid  murmurs  of  solemn  psalms  and 
whispering  amens  from  the  winds  and  from  the  sea. 


SHRINS  or  OaSEOU  "  IL  SANTO.^* 


3D  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER     11. 

THE   MICHIELI. 

It  is  of  course  impossible  to  give  here  a  continuonshistory 
of  the  doges.  To  trace  the  first  appearance  of  one  after  an- 
other of  the  historic  names  so  familiar  to  our  ears  would  be 
a  task  full  of  interest,  but  far  too  extensive  for  the  present 
undertaking.  All  tiiat  we  can  attempt  to  do  is  to  take  up 
a  prominent  figure  here  and  there,  to  mark  the  successive 
crises  and  developments  of  history  and  the  growth  of  the 
Venetian  constitution,  involved  as  it  is  in  the  action  and 
influence  of  successive  princes,  or  to  follow  the  fortunes  of 
one  or  other  of  the  family  groups  which  add  an  individual 
interest  to  the  general  story.  Among  these,  less  for  the  im- 
portance of  the  house  than  for  greatness  of  one  of  its 
members,  the  Micliieli,  find  a  prominent  place.  The  first 
doge  of  the  name  was  the  grandfather,  the  third  the  son  of 
the  great  Domenico  Michieli  who  made  the  name  illustri- 
ous. Vitale  Michiel  the  first  (the  concluding  vowel  is  cut 
off  according  to  familiar  use  in  many  Venetian  names — 
Cornaro  being  pronounced  Oornar  ;  Loredano,  Loredan; 
and  so  forth)  came  to  the  dignity  of  doge  in  1096,  more  than 
a  century  later  than  the  accession  of  the  Oi'seoli  to  power. 
In  the  meantime  there  had  been  much  progress  in  Venice. 
We  reach  the  limits  within  which  general  history  begins  to 
become  clear.  Every  day  the  great  republic,  though  still 
in  infancy,  emerges  more  and  more  distinct  from  the  morn- 
ing mists.  And  the  accession  of  Vitale  Michieli  brings  us 
abreast  of  information  from  otlier  sources.  He  came  to 
the  chief  magistracy  at  the  time  when  all  Europe  was 
thrilling  with  the  excitement  of  the  first  crusade,  and  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  31 

great  maritime  towns  of  Italy  began  to  vie  with  each  other 
in  offering  tlie  means  of  transit  to  the  pilgrims.  How  it 
happens  that  the  Venetian  chroniclers  have  left  this  part  of 
their  history  in  darkness,  and  gathered  so  few  details  of  a 
period  so  important,  is  the  standing  wonder  of  historical 
students.  But  so  it  is.  A  wave  of  new  life  must  have  swept 
through  the  city,  with  all  its  wealth  of  galleys,  which  lay  so 
directly  in  the  way  between  the  east  and  west,  and  trade 
must  have  quickened  and  prosperity  increased.  All  that  we 
hear,  however,  from  Venetian  sources  is  vague  and  general; 
and  it  was  not  until  after  the  taking  of  Jerusalem  that  the 
doge  felt  himself  impelled  to  join  *Hhat  holy  and  praise- 
worthy undertaking:"  and  assembling  the  people  pro- 
posed to  them  the  formation  of  an  armada,  not  only  for 
the  primary  object  of  the  crusade,  but,  in  order  that  Ven- 
ice might  not  show  herself  backward  where  the  Pisans  and 
Genoese  had  both  acquired  reputation  and  wealth. 

The  expedition  thus  fitted  out  was  commanded  by  his 
son  Giovanni,  with  the  aid  of  a  spiritual  coadjutor  in  the 
person  of  Enrico  Contarini,  Bishop  of  Castello:  but  does 
not  seem  to  have  accomplished  much  except  in  the  search 
for  relics,  whicii  were  then  the  great  object  of  Venetian 
ambition.  A  curious  story  is  told  of  this  expedition  and 
of  the  bishop  commodore,  who,  performing  his  devotions 
before  his  departure  at  the  church  on  the  Lido,  dedicated 
to  San  Niccolo,  made  it  the  special  object  of  his  prayers 
that  he  miglit  find,  when  on  his  travels,  the  body  of  the 
saint.  Whether  the  determination  to  have  this  prayer 
granted  operated  in  other  methods  more  pi'actical  cannot 
be  told:  but  certain  it  is  that  Bishop  Contarina  one  fine 
morning  suddenly  called  upon  the  fleet  to  stop  in  front  of 
a  little  town  which  was  visible  on  the  top  of  the  cliffs  near 
the  city  of  Mira.  The  squadron  paused  in  full  career,  no 
doubt  with  many  an  inquiry  from  the  gazing  crowds  in  the 
other  vessels  not  near  enough  to  see  what  the  admiral 
would  be  at,  or  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  sudden  land- 
ing of  a  little  band  of  explorers  on  the  peaceful  coast.  The 
little  town,  unacitia,  a  {)lace  without  a  name,  was  found 
almost  abandoned  of  its  inhabitants,  having  been  ravaged 


32  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

by  some  recent  corsair,  Turk  or  Croat.  The  explorers, 
joined  by  many  a  boat's  crew  as  soon  as  the  other  vessels 
saw  that  some  adventure  was  on  hand,  found  a  church 
dedicated  also  to  San  Niccolo,  which  they  immediately  be- 
gan to  examine,  not  too  gently,  pulling  down  walls  and 
altars  to  find  the  sacred  booty  of  which  they  were  in  search, 
and  even  putting  to  torture  the  guardians  of  the  church 
who  would  not  betray  its  secrets.  Finding  notliing  better 
to  be  done,  they  took  at  last  two  bodies  of  saints  of  lesser 
importance,  St.  Theodore  to  wit  and  a  second  San  Niccolo, 
uncle  of  the  greater  saint — and  prepared,  though  with  little 
satisfaction,  to  regain  their  ships.  The  bishop,  however, 
lingered,  praying  and  weeping  behind,  with  no  com- 
punction apparently  as  to  the  tortured  guardians  of  St. 
Nicholas,  but  much  dislike  to  be  balked  in  his  own  ardent 
desire:  when  lo!  all  at  once  there  arose  a  fragrance  as  of  all 
the  flowers  of  June,  and  the  pilgrims,  hastily  crowding 
back  to  see  what  wonderful  thing  was  about  to  take  place, 
found  themselves  drawn  toward  a  certain  altar,  apparently 
overlooked  before,  where  St.  Nicholas  really  lay.  One 
wonders  whether  the  saint  was  flattered  by  the  violence  of 
his  abductors,  as  women  are  said  to  be — yet  cannot  but 
feel  that  it  was  hard  upon  the  poor  tortured  custodians,  the 
old  and  faithful  servants  who  would  not  betray  their  trust, 
to  see  the  object  of  tlieir  devotion  thus  favor  the  invaders. 
This  story  Romanin  assures  us  is  told  by  a  contemporary. 
Dandolo  gives  another  very  similar,  adding  tliat  his  own 
ancestor,  a  Dandolo,  was  captain  of  the  ship  which  carried 
back  the  prize. 

This  would  seem  to  have  been  the  chief  glory,  though 
but  at  second  hand,  of  Vitale  Michieli's  reign.  The  due 
corpi  di  San  Niccolo,  the  great  and  small,  were  placed  with 
great  joy  in  San  Niccolo  del  Lido,  and  that  of  St.  Theodore 
deposited  in  the  church  of  San  Salvatore.  The  brief  ac- 
count of  the  Crusade  given  by  Sanudo  reveals  to  us  a 
hungry  search  for  relics  on  the  part  of  the  Venetian  contin- 
gent, varied  by  quarrels,  which  speedily  came  to  blows,  with 
the  Pisans  and  Genoese,  their  rivals  at  sea,  but  little  more. 
Nor  is  it  apparent  that  the  life  of  the  Doge  Vitale  was 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  33 

more  distinguished  at  home.  He  died,  after  a  reign  of 
about  five  years,  in  the  end  of  the  first  year  of  the  twelfth 
century,  and  for  a  generation  we  hear  of  the  family  no 
more. 

His  successor,  Ordelafo,  first  of  the  Falieri,  was  a  man 
of  great  energy  and  character.  He  was  the  founder  of  the 
great  arsenal,  which  has  always  been  of  so  much  impor- 
tance to  Venice,  not  less  now  with  its  great  miraculous 
scientific  prodigies  of  ironclads,  and  its  hosts  of  workmen, 
than  when  the  pitch  boiled  and  the  hammers  rang  for 
smaller  craft  on  more  primitive  designs.  Ordelafo,  how- 
ever, came  to  a  violent  end  fighting  for  the  possession  of 
the  continually  rebellious  city  of  Zara,  which  from  genera- 
tion to  generation  gave  untold  trouble  to  its  conquerors. 
His  fall  carried  dismay  and  defeat  to  the  very  hearts  of  his 
followers.  The  Venetians  were  not  accustomed  to  disas- 
ter, and  they  were  completely  cowed  and  broken  down  by 
the  loss  at  once  of  their  leader  and  of  the  battle.  For  a 
time  it  seems  to  have  been  felt  that  the  republic  had  lost 
her  hold  upon  Dalmatia,  and  that  the  empire  of  the  seas 
was  in  danger  :  and  the  dismayed  leaders  came  home, 
bringing  grief  and  despondency  with  them.  The  city  was 
so  cast  down  that  ambassadors  were  sent  off  to  the  king  of 
Hungary  to  sue  for  a  truce  of  five  years,  and  mourning 
and  alarm  filled  all  hearts.  It  was  at  this  time  of  discom- 
fiture and  humiliation  in  the  year  1118,  that  Donienico 
Michieli,  the  second  of  his  name  to  bear  that  honor,  was 
elected  doge.  In  these  dismal  circumstances  there  seems 
little  augury  of  the  splendor  and  success  he  was  to  bring  to 
Venice.  His  first  authentic  appearance  shows  him  to  us 
in  the  act  of  preparing  another  expedition  for  the  East, 
for  the  succor  of  Baldwin,  the  second  king  of  Jerusalem, 
who,  the  first  flush  of  success  being  by  this  time  over,  had 
in  his  straits  appealed  to  the  pope  and  to  the  republic. 
The  pope  sent  on  Baldwin's  letters  to  Venice,  and  with 
them  a  standard  bearing  the  image  of  St.  Peter,  to  be  car- 
ried by  the  doge  to  battle.  Michieli  immediately  prepared 
2k possente  armata — a  strong  expedition.  **  Then  the  peo- 
ple were  called  to  counsel,''  the  narrative  goes  on,  without 


U  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

any  ironical  meaning :  and,  after  solemn  service  in  St. 
Mark^  the  prince  addressed  the  assembly.  The  primitive 
constitution  of  the  republic,  in  which  every  man  felt  him- 
self the  arbiter  of  his  country^s  fate,  could  not  be  better 
exemplified.  The  matter  was  already  decided,  and  all  that 
was  needful  to  carry  out  the  undertaking  was  that  popular 
movement  of  sympathy  which  a  skilled  orator  has  so  little 
difficulty  in  calling  forth.  The  people  pressed  in  to  the 
church,  where,  with  all  the  solemnity  of  ritual  against 
which  no  heretical  voice  had  ever  been  raised,  the  patri- 
arch and  his  clergy,  in  pomp  and  splendor,  celebrated,  at 
the  great  altar  blazing  with  light,  the  sacred  ceremonies. 
San  Marco,  in  its  dark  splendor,  with  that  subtle  charm  of 
color  which  makes  it  unique  among  churches,  was  proba- 
bly then  more  like  what  it  is  now  than  was  any  other  part 
of  Venice — especially  when  filled  with  that  surging  sea  of 
eager  faces  all  turned  towai'd  the  brilliant  glow  of  the 
altar.  And  those  who  have  seen  the  great  Venetian  tem- 
ple of  to-day,  full  of  the  swaying  movement  and  breath  of 
a  crowd,  may  be  permitted  to  form  for  themselves  an 
image,  probably  very  like  the  original,  of  that  assembly, 
where  patricians,  townsmen,  artisans — the  mariners  who 
would  be  the  first  to  bear  their  part,  and  those  sons  of  the 
people  who  are  the  natural  recruits  of  every  army,  all  met 
together  eager  for  news,  ready  to  be  moved  by  the  elo- 
quence, and  wrought  to  enthusiasm  by  the  sentiment  of 
their  doge.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  speech  of 
Michieli,  given  by  Sabellico  in  detail,  is  the  actual  oration 
of  the  doge,  verbally  reported  in  the  first  half  of  the 
twelfth  century  :  but  it  has  no  doubt  some  actual  truth  of 
language,  handed  down  by  fragments  of  tradition  an  i 
anonymous  chronicle,  and  it  is  very  characteristic,  and 
worthy  of  the  occasion.  ^'From  you,  noble  V^enetians, 
these  things  are  not  hid,"  he  says,  "  which  were  done 
partly  by  yourselves,  and  partly  by  the  other  peoples  of 
Europe,  to  recover  the  Holy  Land."  Then,  after  a  brief 
review  of  the  circumstances,  of  the  great  necessity  and  the 
appeal  made  to  Rome,  he  addresses  himself  thus  to  the 
popular  ear: 


To  face  page  34. 

BRONZE  HORSES  ON  THE  FACADE  OF  S.  MARCO. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  35 

*'  Moved  by  so  great  a  peril,  the  Roman  pontiff  has  judged  the 
Venetians  alone  worthy  of  such  an  undertaking,  and  that  he  might 
securely  confide  it  to  them.  Wherefore  he  has  sent  commissions  to 
your  prince,  and  to  you,  Venetian  citizens,  praying  and  supplicating 
you  that  in  such  a  time  of  need  you  should  not  desert  the  Christian 
cause.  Which  demand  your  prince  has  determined  to  refer  to  you. 
Make  up  your  minds  then,  and  command  that  a  strong  force  should  be 
prepared.  Which  thing  not  only  religion  and  our  care  for  the  church 
and  all  Christians  enjoins,  but  also  the  inheritance  of  our  fathers, 
from  whom  we  have  received  it  as  a  charge:  which  fulfilling  we  can 
also  enlarge  our  own  dominion.  It  is  very  worthy  of  the  religion  of 
which  we  make  profession,  to  defend  with  our  arms  from  the  injuries 
of  cruel  men  that  country  in  which  Christ  our  King  chose  to  be  born, 
to  traverse  weeping,  in  which  to  be  betrayed,  taken,  put  upon  the 
Cross,  and  that  his  most  holy  body  should  have  sepulture  therein  :  in 
which  place,  as  testifies  Holy  Writ,  as  the  great  Judge  yet  once  more 
He  must  come  to  judge  the  human  race.  What  sacred  place  dedicated 
to  His  service,  what  monastery,  what  altar,  can  we  imagine  will  be 
so  grateful  to  Him  as  this  holy  undertaking  ?  by  which  He  will  see 
the  home  of  His  childhood,  His  grave,  and,  finally,  all  the  surround- 
ings of  His  humanity,  made  free  from  unworthy  bondage.  But  since 
human  nature  is  so  constituted  that  there  is  scarcely  any  public  piety 
without  a  mixture  of  ambition,  you,  perhaps,  while  I  speak,  begin  to 
ask  yourselves  silently,  what  honor,  what  glory,  what  reward  may 
follow  such  an  enterprise  ?  Great  and  notable  will  be  the  glory  to  the 
Venetian  name,  since  our  forces  will  appear  to  all  Europe  alone 
sufficient  to  be  opposed  to  the  strength  of  Asia.  The  furthermost 
parts  of  the  West  will  hear  of  the  valor  of  the  Venetians,  Africa  will 
talk  of  it,  Europe  will  wonder  at  it,  and  our  name  will  be  great  and 
honored  in  everybody's  mouth.  Yours  will  be  the  victory  in  such  a 
war,  and  yours  will  be  the  glory.     .     .     . 

"  Besides,  I  doubt  not  that  you  are  all  of  one  will  in  the  desire  that 
our  domain  should  grow  and  increase.  In  what  way,  and  by  what 
method,  think  you,  is  this  to  be  done?  Perhaps  here  seated,  or  in 
our  boats  upon  the  lagoons?  Those  who  think  so  deceive  themselves. 
The  old  Romans,  of  whom  it  is  your  glory  to  bethought  the  descend- 
ants, and  whom  you  desire  to  emulate,  did  not  gain  the  empire  of 
the  world  by  cowardice  or  illness;  but  adding  one  undertaking  to 
another,  and  war  to  war,  put  their  yoke  upon  all  people,  and  with 
incredible  fighting  increased  their  strength.  . .  And  yet  again,  if  neither 
the  glory,  nor  the  rewards,  nor  the  ancient  and  general  devotion  of 
our  city  for  the  Christian  name  should  move  you,  this  certainly  will 
move  you,  that  we  are  bound  to  deliver  from  the  oppression  of  the 
unbeliever  that  land  in  which  we  shall  stand  at  last  before  the 
tribunal  of  the  great  Judge,  and  where  what  we  have  done  shall  not 
be  hidden,  but  made  manifest  and  clear.     Go,  then,  and  prepare  the 


36  THK  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

armaments,  and  may   it  be  well   with  you   and  witli  the  Venetian 
name." 


The  skillful  mingling  of  motives,  sacred  and  secular;  the 
melting  touch  with  which  that  land  which  was  the  place  of 
his  childhood  " — il  hiogo  della  sua  fanciuUezza — is  pre- 
sented to  their  sight;  the  desire  for  glory,  which  is  so 
sweet  to  all;  the  great  civic  ambition  to  make  Venice  great 
and  hear  her  praise  ;  the  keen  sting  of  the  taunt  to  those  who 
suppose  that  fame  is  to  be  got  by  sitting  still  or  by  idle 
exercises  upon  the  surrounding  waters — returning  again 
with  the  force  of  a  final  argument  to  **  that  land"  where 
the  final  judgment  is  to  be  held,  and  where  those  who 
have  fought  for  the  cross  will  not  be  hidden,  great  or  small 
— forms  an  admirable  example  of  the  kind  of  oration  which 
an  eloquent  doge  might  deliver  to  the  impetuous  and  easily- 
moved  populace,  who  had,  after  all,  a  terrible  dominant 
power  of  veto  if  they  chanced  to  take  another  turn  from 
that  which  was  desired.  The  speaker,  however,  who  had 
this  theme  and  knew  so  well  how  to  set  it  forth,  must  have 
felt  that  he  had  the  heart  of  the  people  in  his  hand  and 
could  play  upon  that  great  instrument  as  upon  a  lute. 
When  he  had  ended,  the  church  resounded  with  shouts, 
mingled  with  weeping,  and  there  was  not  one  in  the  city, 
we  are  told,  who  would  not  rather  have  been  written  down 
in  the  lists  of  that  army  than  left  to  stay  in  peace  and 
idleness  at  home. 

Dandolo,  the  most  authentic  and  trustworthy  authority, 
describes  this  expedition  as  one  of  two  hundred  ships,  large 
and  small,  but  other  authorities  reckon  them  as  less  numer- 
ous. They  shone  with  pictures  and  various  colors,  the 
French  historian  of  the  Crusades  informs  us,  and  were  a 
delightful  sight  as  they  made  their  way  across  the  brilliant 
eastern  sea.  Whether  the  painted  sails  that  still  linger 
about  the  lagoons  and  give  so  much  brilliancy  and  character 
to  the  scene  were  already  adopted  by  these  glorious  galleys 
seems  unknown  ;  their  high  prows,  however,  were  richly 
decorated  with  gilding  and  color,  and  it  is  apparently  this 
ornamentation  to  which  the  historian  alludes.     But  though 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  37 

they  were  beautiful  to  behold,  their  progress  was  not  rapid. 
Tliu  doge  stopped  on  his  way  to  besiege  and  take  Corfu, 
wliere  the  squadron  passed  the  winter,  as  was  the  custom 
of  tlie  time.  Even  when  they  set  sail  again  they  lingered 
among  the  islands,  carrying  fire  and  sword  for  no  particular 
leason,  so  far  as  appears,  into  Rhodes  and  other  places; 
until  at  last  evil  news  from  Palestine,  and  the  information 
that  the  enemy's  fleet  lay  in  front  of  Joppa,  blockading 
that  port,  quickened  their  steps.  Michieli  divided  his 
squadron,,  and  beguiled  the  hostile  ships  out  to  sea  with  tlie 
hopes  of  an  easy  triumph  ;  then  falling  upon  tliem  with  the 
stronger  portion  of  his  force  won  so  terrible  and  complete  a 
victory  that  the  water  and  the  air  were  tainted  with  blood, 
and  many  of  the  Venetians,  according  to  Sanudo,  fell  sick 
in  consquence, 

It  is  difficult  to  decide  whether  it  was  after  this  first  in- 
cident of  the  war,  or  jit  a  later  period,  that  the  doge  found 
himself,  like  so  many  generals  before  and  after  him,  in 
want  of  money  for  the  payment  of  his  men.  The  idea  of 
bank-notes  had  not  then  occurred  to  the  merchant  princes. 
But  Michieli  did  what  our  own  valiant  Gordon  had  to  do, 
aTid  with  as  great  a  strain  no  doubt  on  the  faith  of  the  me- 
diaeval mariners  to  whom  the  device  was  entirely  new.  He 
caused  a  coinage  to  be  struck  in  leather,  stamped  with  his 
own  family  arms,  and  had  it  published  throughout  the  fleet, 
upon  his  personal  warrant,  that  these  should  be  considered 
as  lawful  money,  and  should  he  exchanged  for  gold  zee- 
chins  on  the  return  of  the  ships  to  Venice.  *^And  so  it 
was  done,  and  the  promise  was  kept.  "  In  memory  of 
this  first  assignat  the  Ca'  Michieli,  still  happily  existing 
in  Venice,  bears  till  this  day,  and  has  borne  through  all  the 
intervening  centuries,  the  symbol  of  these  leathern  coins 
upon  the  cheerful  blue  and  white  of  their  ancestral  coat. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Venetians  at  Acre  they  found  the 
assembled  Christians  full  of  uncertain  counsels,  as  was  un- 
fortunately too  common,  doubtful  even  with  which  city. 
Tyre  or  Ascalon,  they  should  begin  their  operations.  The 
doge  proposed  an  appeal  to  God  under  the  shape  of 
drawing  lots,  always  a  favorite  idea  with  the  Venetians, 


38  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

and  the  two  names  were  written  on  pieces  of  paper,  and 
placed  in  the  pyx  on  the  altar,  from  which  one  was  drawn 
by  a  child,  after  mass  had  been  said.  On  tliis  appeared 
the  name  of  Tyre,  and  the  question  was  decided.  Be- 
fore, however,  the  expedition  set  out  again,  the  prudent 
Venetian  well  aware  that  gratitude  is  less  to  be  calculated 
upon  after  than  before  the  benefit  is  received,  made  his 
conditions  with  *^the  barons ''who  represented  the  im- 
prisoned King  Baldwin.  These  conditions  were,  that  in 
every  city  of  the  Christian  kingdom  the  Venetians  should 
have  secured  to  them  a  church,  a  street,  an  open  square,  a 
bath  and  a  bakehouse,  to  be  held  free  from  taxes  as  if  they 
were  the  property  of  the  king  :  that  they  should  be  free  from 
all  tolls  on  entering  or  leaving  these  cities,  as  free  as  in  their 
own  dominion,  unless  when  conveying  freight,  in  which 
case  they  were  to  pay  the  ordinary  dues.  Further,  the 
authorities  of  Baldwin's  kingdom  pledged  themselves  to  pay 
to  the  doge  in  every  recurring  year,  on  the  feast  of  SS. 
Peter  and  Paul,  300  bezants ;  and  consented  that  all  legal 
differences  between  Venetians,  residents  or  visitors  should 
be  settled  by  their  own  courts,  and  that  in  cases  of  ship- 
wreck or  death  at  sea  the  property  of  dead  Venetians, 
should  be  carefully  preserved  and  conveyed  to  Venice  for 
distribution  to  the  lawful  heirs.  Finally,  the  third  part  of 
the  cities  of  Tyre  and  Ascalon,  if  conquered  by  the  help  of 
the  Venetians — in  so  far  at  least  as  these  conquered  places 
belonged  to  the  Saracens  and  not  to  the  Franks — were  to  be 
given  to  the  Venetians,  to  be  held  by  them  as  freely  as  the 
king  held  the  rest.  These  conditions  are  taken  from  the 
confirmatory  charter  afterward  granted  by  Baldwin. 
The  reader  will  perceive  that  the  doge  drove  an  excellent 
bargain,  and  did  not,  though  so  great  and  good  a  man, 
disdain  to  exact  the  best  terms  possible  from  his  friend's 
necessities. 

These  important  preliminaries  settled,  the  expedition 
set  out  for  Tyre,  which,  being  very  strong,  was  assailed  at 
once  by  land  and  by  sea.  The  siege  had  continued  for 
some  time  without  any  important  result,  and  the  Crusaders 
were  greatly  discouraged  by  rumors  of  an  attack  that  was 


TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  39 

being  planned  against  Jerusalem,  when  it  began  to  be 
whispered  in  the  host  that  the  Venetians,  who  were  so 
handy  with  their  galleys,  would,  in  case  of  the  arrival  of 
the  army  of  the  king  of  Damascus,  who  was  known  to  be 
on  his  way  to  the  relief  of  the  city,  think  only  of  their  own 
safety,  and  getting  up  all  sail  abandon  their  allies  and 
make  off  to  sea.  This  suggestion  made  a  great  commotion 
in  the  camp,  where  the  knowledge  that  a  portion  of  the 
force  had  escape  within  their  power,  made  danger  doubly 
bitter  to  the  otliers  who  had  no  such  possibility.  The 
doge  heard  the  rumor,  which  filled  him  with  trouble  and 
indignation.  Dandolo  says  that  he  took  a  plank  from 
each  of  the  galleys  to  make  them  unseaworthy.  **  Others 
write,"  says  Sabellico,  '*  that  the  sails,  oars  and  other 
things  needed  for  navigation  were  what  Michieli  removed 
from  his  ships."  These  articles  were  carried  into  the  pres- 
ence of  Varimondo  or  Guarimondo,  the  patriarch,  and  all 
the  assembly  of  the  leaders.  The  astonishment  of  the 
council  of  war,  half  composed  of  priests,  when  these  cum- 
brous articles,  smelling  of  pitch  and  salt  water,  were 
thrown  down  before  them,  may  be  imagined.  The  doge 
made  them  an  indignant  speech,  asking  how  they  could 
have  supposed  the  Venetians  to  be  so  light  of  faith  ;  and, 
with  a  touch  of  ironical  contempt,  informed  them  that  he 
took  this  means  to  set  them  at  their  ease,  and  show  that 
the  men  of  Venice  meant  to  take  Tyre,  and  not  to  run 
away. 

Another  picturesque  incident  recorded  is  one  which 
Sabellico  allows  may  be  fabulous,  but  which  Sanudo  re- 
peats from  two  different  sources — the  story  of  a  carrier 
pigeon  sent  by  the  relieving  army  to  encourage  the  people 
of  Tyre  in  their  manful  resistance,  which  the  Christian 
army  caught,  and  to  which  they  attached  a  message  of 
quite  opposite  purport,  upon  the  receipt  of  which  the  much 
tried  and  famished  garrison  lost  heart,  and  at  length, 
though  with  all  the  honors  of  war,  capitulated,  and  threw 
open  their  gates  ;  upon  which  the  besiegers  took  posses- 
sion, not  without  much  grumbling  on  the  part  of  the  dis- 
appointed  soldiers  who  looked  for  nothing  less  than  the 


40  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

sacking  of  the  wealthy  city.  The  royal  standard  of  Jeru- 
salem was  immediately  erected  on  the  highest  tower,  those 
of  St.  Mark  and  of  the  Count  of  Tripoli  waving  beside  it. 
The  siege  lasted,  according  to  Dandolo,  nearly  four 
months.  The  doge  had  spent  Christmas  solemnly  at  Jeru- 
salem, and.  it  was  in  July  that  the  city  was  entered  by  the 
allies  :  but  all  the  authorities  are  chary  of  dates,  and  even 
Eomanin  is  not  too  clear  on  this  point.  It  was,  however, 
in  July,  1123,  that  the  victory  was  gained. 

In  the  portion  of  the  city  which  fell  to  the  share  of  the 
Venetians,  true  to  their  instincts,  a  scheme  of  government 
was  at  once  set  up.  The  doge  put  in  a  halio  chi  facesse 
ragio7ie — a  deputy  who  should  do  right — seek  good  and  en- 
sue it.  Mr.  Euskin,  in  his  eloquent  account  of  this  great 
enterprise  (which  it  would  be  great  temerity  on  our  part 
to  attempt  to  repeat,  were  it  not  necessary  to  the  story  of 
the  doges)  quotes  the  oath  taken  by  inferior  magistrates 
under  the  ialio,  which  is  a  stringent  promise  to  act  justly 
by  all  men  and  *^  according  to  the  ancient  use  and  law  of 
the  city.^^  The  Venetians  took  possession  at  once  of  their 
third  of  the  newly  acquired  town,  with  all  the  privileges 
accorded  to  them,  and  set  up  their  bakeries,  their  exclusive 
weights  and  measures,  their  laws,  their  churches,  of  which 
three  were  built  without  delay,  and  along  with  all  these, 
secured  an  extension  of  trade,  which  was  the  highest  bene- 
fit of  all. 

It  is  asserted  by  an  anonymous  commentator  upon  the 
manuscript  of  candolo;  that  it  was  proposed  by  the  cru- 
saders, after  this  great  success  of  their  arms,  to  elect  the 
doge  king  of  Jerusalem  in  place  of  the  imprisoned  Baldwin 
but  of  this  there  seems  no  confirmation.  Michieli  was  called 
from  the  scene  of  his  victories  by  information  of  renewed 
troubles  on  the  Dalmatian  coast,  and  departed,  carrying 
along  with  him  many  of  the  fine  things  for  which  Tyre  was 
famous — the  purple  and  the  goldsmith's  work,  and  many 
treasures.  But  among  others,  one  on  which  Dandolo  and 
Sanudo  both  agree,  a  certain  great  stone  which  had  stood 
near  one  of  the  gates  of  Tyre  since  the  time  when  our  Lord, 
weary  after  a  journey,  sat  down  to  rest  upon  it.  Such  a  treas- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  41 

ure  was  not  likely  to  escape  the  keeu  scent  of  the  Venetians, 
socager  for  relics.  The  doge  carried  it  away,  a  somewhat 
cumbrous  addition  to  his  plunder,  and  when  he  reached 
home  placed  it  in  San  Marco,  where  it  is  still  to  be  seen  in 
the  baptistery,  a  chapel,  not  built  in  Michieli's  day,  where 
forms  the  altar,  im  enorme  mossetto  de  granito — as  says  the 
last  guide  book.  The  guide-book,  however  (the  excellent 
one  published  by  Signori  Falin  and  Molmenti,  from  the 
notes  of  Lazari,  and  worth  a  dozen  Murrays),  says  that  it 
was  Vitale  Michieli,  and  not  Domenico  who  brought  over 
this  stone  from  Tyre;  just  as  Mr.  Ruskin  assures  us  that  it 
was  Domenico  who  brought  home  tlie  two  famous  columns 
on  the  Piazzetta,  of  wiiich  the  chronicles  do  not  say  a 
word.     Who  is   to   decide  when  doctors  disagree? 

The  homeward  journey  of  the  Venetians  was  full  of  ad- 
venture and  conflict.  Their  first  pause  was  made  at  Rliodes, 
where  the  inhabitants,  possibly  encouraged  by  the  G-reek 
emperor  in  their  insolence  to  the  Venetians,  refused  to 
furnish  them  with  provisions:  whereupon  the  doge  disem- 
barked his  army,  and  took,  and  sacked  the  city.  After 
this  swift  and  summary  vengeance  the  fleet  went  on  to 
Chios,  which  not  only  was  treated  as  Rhodes  had  been,  but 
was  robbed  of  a  valuable  piece  of  saintly  plunder,  the  body 
of  St.  Isidore.  The  other  isles  of  the  Archipelago  fell  in 
succession  before  the  victorious  fleet,  which  passed  with  a 
swelling  sail  and  all  the  exhilaration  of  success  from  one 
to  another.  At  Cephalonia  the  body  of  San  Donate  was 
discovered  and  carried  away.  Nearer  home  the  expedition 
executed  those  continually  required  re-adjustments  of  the 
Dalmatian  towns  which  almost  every  doge  in  succession, 
since  they  were  first  annexed,  had  been  compelled  to  take 
in  hand.  Trau,  Spalatro,  and  Zara  were  re-taken  from  the 
Hungarians,  and  the  latter  city,  called  by  Sanudo  Belgrade 
{Belgrado  cioe  Zara  vecchia),  from  which  the  Venetian 
governor  had  been  banished,  and  which  had  cost  much 
blood  and  trouble  to  the  republic,  the  doge  is  said 
to  have  caused  it  to  be  destroyed,  "  that  its  ruin  might  be  an 
example  to  the  others,"  a  fact  which,  however,  docs  not  pre- 
Yent  it  from  reappearing  a  source  of  trouble  and  conflict  to 


42  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

many  a  subsequent  doge.  Here,  too,  Michieli  paused  and 
distributed  the  spoil,  setting  apart  a  portion  for  God,  and 
dividing  the  rest  among  the  army.  Then,  with  great 
triumph  and  victory,  after  an  absence  of  nearly  three  years, 
the  conquerors  made  their  way  home. 

A  more  triumphant  voyage  had  never  been  made.  The 
Venetians  had,  as  the  doge  predicted,  covered  their  name 
with  glory,  and  at  the  same  time  extended  and  increased 
their  realm.  They  had  acquired  the  third  part  of  Tyre  and 
settled  a  strong  colony  there,  to  push  their  trade  and  afford 
an  outlet  for  the  superfluous  energies  of  the  race.  They 
had  impressed  the  terror  of  their  name  and  arms  upon  the 
Grecian  isles.  The  doge  himself  had  performed  some  of 
those  magnanimous  deeds  which  take  hold  upon  the 
imagination  of  a  people,  and  outlive  for  centuries  all  vio- 
lent victories  and  acquisitions.  The  story  of  the  leather 
coinage  and  of  the  disabled  galleys  are  such  as  make  those 
traditions  which  are  the  very  life  of  a  people.  And 
Michieli  had  served  his  country  by  seizing  upon  the  imagi- 
nation and  sympathies  of  other  lands.  He  had  almost  been 
made  king  in  Jerusalem.  Wlien  he  passed  by  Sicily  he 
had  again  been  offered  a  kingdom.  There  was  nothing 
wanting  to  the  perfection  of  his  glory.  And  when  he  came 
home  triumphant,  and  told  his  story  of  danger  and  suc- 
cesses in  the  same  glowing  area  of  St.  Mark's,  to  the  same 
fervent  multitude  whose  sanction  he  had  asked  to  the 
undertaking,  it  is  easy  to  imagine  what  his  welcome  must 
have  been.  He  had  brought  with  him  treasures  of  cun- 
ning workmanship,  the  jewels  of  gold  and  silver,  the 
wonderful  embroideries  and  carpets  of  the  East;  perhaps 
also  the  secret  of  the  glass-workers  creating  a  new  trade 
among  the  existing  guilds,  things  to  make  all  Venice  beside 
itself  with  delight  and  admiration.  And  when  the  two 
saintly  corpses  were  carried  reverentially  on  shore — one  for 
Murano,  to  consecrate  the  newly-erected  church,  one  to  re- 
main in  Venice — and  the  shapeless  mass  of  the  great  stone 
upon  which  our  Lord  had  sat  in  His  weariness,  or  which, 
as  another  story  says,  had  served  Him  as  a  platform  from 
which  to  address  the  wondering  crowd — with  what  looks 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  43 

of  awe  and  reverential  ecstasy  must  these  sacred  relics  have 
been  regarded,  the  crown  of  all  the  victor's  spoil!  The 
enlightened  or  even  partially  enlightened  spectator  in  Venice 
as  well  in  other  places  has  ceased  to  feel  any  strong  veneration 
for  dead  men's  bones  except  under  the  decent  coverings  of  the 
tomb;  but  we  confess,  for  our  own  part,  that  the  stone  which 
stood  at  the  gate  of  Tyre  all  those  ages,  and  which  the  val- 
orous doge  haled  over  the  seas  to  make  an  altar  of — the  stone 
on  which,  tradition  says,  our  Lord  rested  when  He  passed  by 
those  coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidon,  where  perhaps  that  anxious 
woman  who  would  not  take  an  answer  first  saw  Him  seated 
and  conceived  the  hope  that  so  great  a  prophet  might  give 
liealing  to  her  child — has  an  interest  for  us  as  strong  as  if 
we  had  lived  in  the  twelfth  century,  and  seen  the  doge 
come  home.  The  Baptistery  of  St.  Mark's  is  well  worthy 
examination.  There  is  a  beautiful  description  of  it  in  the 
second  volume  of  Mr.  Ruskin's  "Stones  of  Venice,"  to  read 
which  is  the  next  best  thing  to  visiting  the  solemn  quiet  of 
the  place;  but  there  is  no  illusion  there  to  this  one 
veracious  relic.  Doge  Domenico's  trophy — the  mighty  bit 
of  Syrian  stone. 

The  doge  lived  but  a  few  years  after  his  return.  Mr. 
Ruskin,  following  the  chroniclers,  says  that  he  was  the 
first  who  lighted  the  streets  of  Venice  by  the  uncertain  and 
not  very  effectual  method,  though  so  much  better  than 
nothing,  of  lamps  before  the  shrines  which  abounded  at 
every  corner  ;  so  that  the  traveler,  if  he  pleases,  may  find 
a  token  of  our  doge  at  every  Traghetto  where  a  faint  little 
light  twinkles  before  the  shrine  enclosing  the  dim  print  or 
lithograph  which  represents  the  Madonna.  Mr.  Ruskin 
would  have  us  believe  that  he  for  one  would  like  Venice 
better  if  this  were  the  only  illumination  of  the  city ;  but 
we  may  be  allowed  to  imagine  that  this  is  only  a  fond 
exaggeration  on  the  part  of  that  master.  The  Venetians 
were  at  the  same  time  prohibited  from  wearing  beards 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  Greeks — a  rule  which  must 
surely  apply  to  some  particular  form  of  beard,  and  not  to 
t!iat  manly  ornament  itself,  on  which  it  is  evident  the  men 
of  Venice  had  set  great  store. 


44  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

In  the  year  1129^  having  reigned  only  eleven  years, 
though  he  had  accomplished  so  much,  and  achieved  so 
great  a  reputation,  the  doge,  being  old  and  weary,  resigned 
his  crown,  and  retired  to  San  Giorgio  Maggiore,  though 
whether  with  the  intention  of  joining  the  brotherhood 
there,  or  only  for  repose,  we  are  not  told.  It  would  have 
been  a  touching  and  grand  retirement  for  an  old  prince 
who  had  spent  his  strength  for  Venice,  to  pass  his  latter 
days  in  the  island  convent,  where  all  day  long,  and  by  the 
lovely  moonlight  nights  that  glorify  the  lagoons,  he  could 
have  watched  across  the  gleaming  waters  his  old  home  and 
all  the  busy  scenes  in  which  he  had  so  lately  taken  the 
chief  part,  and  might  have  received  in  many  an  anxious 
moment  the  visit  of  the  reigning  doge,  and  given  his  coun- 
sel, and  become  the  best  adviser  of  the  city  which  in  active 
service  he  could  aid  no  more.  But  this  ideal  position  was 
not  realized  for  Doge  Domenico.  ■  He  had  been  but  a  few 
months  in  San  Giorgio  when  he  died,  full  of  years  and 
honors,  and  was  buried  in  the  refuge  he  had  chosen. 
''  The  place  of  his  grave,"  says  Mr.  Euskin,  ''you  find  by 
going  down  the  steps  on  your  right  hand  behind  the  altar, 
leading  into  what  was  yet  a  monastery  before  the  last  Ital- 
ian revolution,  but  is  now  a  finally  deserted  loneliness.  On 
his  grave  there  is  a  heap  of  frightful  modern  upholsterer's 
work  (Longhena's),  his  first  tomb  being  removed  as  too 
modest  and  time-worn  for  the  vulgar  Venetian  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century.  The  old  inscription  was  copied  on  the 
rotten  black  slate  which  is  breaking  away  in  thin  flakes 
dimmed  by  destroying  salt."  It  is  scarcely  decipherable, 
but  it  is  given  at  length  by  Sanudo  :  *'  Here  lies  the  terror 
of  the  Greeks,  and  the  glory  of  the  Venetians,"  says  the 
epitaph  ;  ''the  man  whom  Emmanuel  feared,  and  all  the 
world  still  honors.  The  capture  of  Tyre,  the  destruction 
of  Syria,  the  desolation  of  Hungary,  proclaim  his  strength. 
He  made  the  Venetians  to  dwell  in  peace  and  quiet,  for 
while  he  flourished  the  country  was  safe."  We  add  the 
concluding  lines  in  the  translation  given  by  Mr.  Ruskin  : 
"  Whosoever  thou  art  who  comest  to  behold  this  tomb  of 
Jiis,  bow  thyself  down  before  God  because  of  him." 


THE  MAKEJih  OF  VENICE.  45 

It  was  probably  from  au  idea  of  humility  that  the  great 
doge  had  himself  buried,  not  in  the  high  places  of  the 
church,  but  in  the  humble  corridor  which  led  to  the  mon- 
astery. All  that  Mr.  Raskin  says  with  his  accustomed 
force  about  the  hideousness  of  the  tomb  is  sufficiently  just ; 
yet  though  nothing  may  excuse  the  vulgar  Venetian  of  the 
seventeenth  century  for  his  bad  taste  in  architecture,  it  is 
still  morally  in  his  favor  that  he  desired  in  his  offensive 
way  to  do  honor  to  the  great  dead — a  good  intention  which 
perhaps  our  great  autocrat  in  art  does  not  sufficiently 
appreciate. 

After  Domenico  Michieli  there  intervened  two  doges, 
one  his  son-in-law  Polani,  another  a  Morosini,  before  it 
came  to  the  turn  of  his  son  Vitale  II.  to  ascend  the  throne. 
What  may  be  called  the  ordinary  of  Venetian  history,  the 
continual  conflict  on  the  Dalmatian  coasts,  went  on  during 
both  these  reigns  with  unfailing  pertinacity  :  and  there 
had  arisen  a  new  enemy,  the  Norman,  who  had  got  posses- 
sion of  Naples,  and  whose  hand  was  by  turns  against  every 
man.  These  fightings  came  to  little,  and  probably  did  less 
harm  than  appears ;  otherwise,  if  war  meant  all  that  it 
means  now,  life  on  the  Dalmatian  coast,  and  among  the 
Greek  Isles,  must  have  been  little  worth  the  living.  In 
the  time  of  Vitale  Michieli's  predecessor,  Sabellico  says, 
the  Campanile  of  San  Marco  was  built,  ^^a  work  truly 
beautiful  and  admirable.  The  summit  of  this  is  of  pure 
and  resplendent  gold,  and  rises  to  such  a  height  that  not 
only  can  you  see  all  the  city,  but  toward  the  west  and  the 
south  can  behold  great  stretches  of  the  sea,  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  those  who  sail  from  hence  to  Istria  and  Dalmatia, 
two  hundred  stadii  away  and  more,  are  guided  by  this 
splendor  as  by  a  faithful  star.^'  This  was  the  first  of  the 
several  erections  which  have  ended  in  the  grand  and 
simple  lines  of  the  Campanile  we  know  so  well,  rising 
straight  out  of  the  earth  with  a  self-reliant  force  which 
makes  its  very  bareness  impressive.  Rising  out  of  the 
earth,  however,  is  the  last  phrase  to  use  in  speaking  of  this 
wonderful  tower,  which,  as  Sabellico  reports,  wondering, 
is  so  deeply  founded  iu  mysterious  intricacies  of  piles  and 


46  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

props  below,  that  almost  as  much  is  hidden  as  that  which 
is  visible. 

Vitale  Michieli  II.  has  this  distinction,  that  he  was  the 
last  of  the  doges  elected  by  that  curious  version  of  univer- 
sal suffrage  which  is  to  be  found  in  this  primitive  age  in 
most  republics — that  is  to  say  the  system  by  which  the  few 
apparent  to  the  masses  that  the  potent  suggestion  whis- 
pered in  their  ear  is  their  own  inspiration.  Such  had 
been,  up  to  this  period,  the  manner  of  electing  the  doge. 
The  few  wlio  were  instinctively  and  by  nature  at  the  head 
of  affairs — men  themselves  elected  by  nobody,  the  first  by 
natural  right,  or  because  their  fathers  had  been  so,  or  be- 
cause they  were  richer,  bolder,  more  enterprising,  more 
audacious,  than  the  rest — settled  among  themselves  which 
of  them  was  to  be  the  ruler  ;  then  calling  together  the  peo- 
ple in  San  Marco,  gave  them,  but  with  more  skill  and  less 
frankness  than  the  thing  is  done  in  ecclesiastical  matters 
among  ourselves,  their  conge  d'elire.  The  doge  elected  by 
this  method  reigned,  with  the  help  of  these  uuofticial 
counselors — of  whom  two  only  seem  to  have  borne  that 
name — and  he  was  as  easily  ruined  when  reverses  came  as 
he  had  been  promoted.  But  the  time  of  more  formal  in- 
stitutions was  near,  and  the  primitive  order  had  ceased  to 
be  enough  for  the  rising  intelligence,  or  at  least  demands, 
of  the  people.  The  third  Michieli  had,  however,  the 
enormous  advantage  of  being  the  son  of  the  most  distin- 
guished of  recent  doges,  and  no  doubt  was  received  with 
those  shouts  of  ^' Provato  !  Provato  !"  (that  is,  a'pprovaio) 
which  was  the  form  of  the  popular  fiat.  One  of  the  first 
incidents  of  his  reign  was  a  brief  but  sharp  struggle  for 
the  independence  of  the  metropolitan  church  of  Grado, 
once  more  attacked  by  the  Patriarch  of  Aquileia.  The 
Venetians  overcame  the  assailants,  and  brought  the  bellig- 
erent prelate  and  twelve  of  his  canons  as  prisoners  to  Ven- 
ice, whence  after  a  while  they  were  sent  home,  having 
promised  to  meddle  with  Grado  no  more,  and  to  pay  a 
somewhat  humiliating  tribute  yearly — in  the  exaction  of 
which  there  is  a  grim  humor.  Every  year  before  Lent,  in 
the  heat  of  what  we  should  call  the  Carnival,  a  great  bull 


TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  47 

and  twelve  pigs  were  to  be  sent  to  Venice,  representing 
the  patriarch  and  his  twelve  canons.  On  the  Thursday, 
when  the  mirth  was  at  its  height,  the  bull  was  hunted  in 
the  Piazza,  and  the  pigs  decapitated  in  memory  of  the 
priestly  captives.  This  curious  ironical  celebration  lasted 
till  the  days  of  Sabellico  and  Sanudo,  the  latter  of  whom 
entitles  it  the  giohha  di  Car7ievale.  It  shows,  notwith- 
standing all  the  reverential  sentiments  of  these  ages  of 
faith,  how  a  certain  contempt  for  the  priest  as  an  adver- 
sary tempered  the  respect  of  the  most  pious  for  all  the  aids 
and  appurtenances  of  religion.* 

This,  however,  was  the  only  victory  in  the  life  of  a  doge 
80  much  less  fortunate  than  his  father.  Italy  was  in  great 
commotion  throughout  his  reign,  all  the  great  northern 
cities,  with  Venice  at  their  head,  being  bound  in  what  was 
called  the  Lombard  League  against  the  Emperor  Frederick 
Barbarossa.  But  the  Venetians  were  more  exposed  to 
attacks  from  the  other  side,  from  the  smoldering  enmity 
of  the  Greeks  than  from  anything  Barbarossa  could  do : 
and  it  was  from  this  direction  that  ruin  came  upon  the 
third  Michieli.  Not  only  were  conspiracies  continually 
fostered  in  the  cities  of  the  Adriatic  ;  but  the  Greek  Em- 
peror Emanuel  seized  the  opportunity  while  Venice  seemed 
otherwise  occupied  to  issue  a  sudden  edict  by  which  all  the 
Venetian  traders  in  his  realm  were  seized  upon  a  certain 
day,  their  goods  confiscated,  tliemselves  thrown  into  prison. 
His  reckoning,  however,  was  premature  ;  for  the  excite- 
ment in  Venice  when  tliis  news  reached  the  astonished  and 
enraged  republic  was  furious  :  and  with  cries  of  *'  War  ! 
war  !"  the  indignant  populace  rushed  together,  offering 
themselves  and  everything  they  could  contribute,  to  the 
avenging  of  this  injury. 

The  great  preparations  which  were  at  once  set  on  foot  de- 
manded, however,  a  larger  outlay  than  could  be  provided 
for  by  voluntary  offerings,  and  the  necessity  of  the  moment 
originated  a  new  movement  of  the  greatest   importance  to 

*  Roraanin  considers  the  bull  to  have  bad  notbing  to  do  witb  tbis 
commemoration,  tbe  twelve  pigs  accompanied  by  twelve  cakes  being, 
he  says,  tbe  tribute  exacted. 


48  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  world.  The  best  expedient  which  occurred  to  the 
Venetian  statesman  was  to  raise  a  national  loan,  bearing 
interest,  to  collect  which  officers  were  appointed  in  every 
district  of  Venice  with  all  the  machinery  of  an  income  tax, 
assessing  every  family  according  to  its  means.  These  con- 
tributions, the  first,  or  almost  the  first,  directly  levied  in 
Venice,  and  all  the  inquisitorial  demands  necessary  to  regu- 
late them,  passed  without  offense  in  the  excitement  of  the 
great  national  indignation,  but  told  afterward  upon  the 
fate  of  the  doge.  Vitale  Michieli  set  out  in  September, 
1171,  six  months  after  the  outrage,  at  the  head  of  a  great 
fleet,  to  avenge  it;  but  misfortune  pursued  this  unlucky 
prince.  He  was  beguiled  by  his  wily  adversary  into  wait- 
ing for  explanations  and  receiving  embassies,  only  intended 
to  gain  time,  or  worse,  to  expose  to  the  dangers  of  inaction 
and  the  chances  of  pestilence  the  great  and  powerful  ex- 
pedition which  the  Greeks  were  not  able  to  encounter 
in  a  more  legitimate  way.  These  miserable  tactics  suc- 
ceeded fully;  lingering  about  the  islands,  at  Chios,  or  else- 
where, disease  completed  what  discontent  and  idleness  had 
begun.  The  Greek  emperor,  all  the  chroniclers  unite  in 
saying,  poisoned  the  wells  so  that  everybody  who  drank  of 
them  fell  ill.  The  idea  that  poison  is  the  cause  of  every 
such  outbreak  of  pestilence  is  still,  as  the  reader  knows,  a 
rooted  belief  of  the  primitive  mind — one  of  those  original 
intuitions  gone  astray,  and  confused  by  want  of  under- 
standing, which  perhaps  the  progress  of  knowledge  may 
set  right:  for  it  is  very  likely  the  waters  were  poisoned, 
though  not  by  the  emperor.  The  great  epidemic  which 
followed  was  of  the  most  disastrous  and  fatal  character:  not 
only  decimating  the  fleet,  but  when  it  returned  to  Venice 
broken  and  discouraged,  spreading  throughout  the  city. 

This  great  national  misfortune  gave  rise  to  a  curious  and 
romantic  incident.  The  family  Giustinian,  one  of  the 
greatest  in  Venice,  was,  according  to  the  story,  so  strongly 
represented  in  the  armada  that  the  race  became  virtually 
extinct  by  the  deaths,  one  after  another,  of  its  members, 
in  the  disastrous  voyage  homeward.  The  only  man  left 
was  a  young  monk,  or  rather  novice  not  yet  professed,  in 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  49 

the  convent  of  San  Niccolo,  on  the  Lido.  When  the  phagiie- 
stricken  crews  got  home,  and  this  misfortune  among:  so 
many  others  was  made  apparent,  tlie  doge  sent  messengers 
to  the  pope,  asking  that  young  Niccolo  might  be  liberated 
from  his  vows  The  old  Giustiniani  fathers,  in  the  noble 
houses  which  were  not  as  yet  tlie  palaces  we  know,  must 
have  waited  among  their  weeping  women — with  an  anxiety 
no  doubt  tempered  by  the  determination,  if  thepopesiiould 
refuse,  to  take  the  matter  into  their  own  hands — for  the 
decision  of  Rome.  And  it  is  wonderful  that  no  dramatist 
or  modern  Italian  romancer,  touched  by  the  prevalent 
passion  for  moral  dissection,  should  have  thought  of  taking 
for  his  hero  this  young  monk  upon  the  silent  shores  of  the 
Lido,  amid  all  the  wonderful  dramas  of  light  and  shade 
that  go  on  upon  the  low  liorizon  sweeping  round  on  every 
side,  a  true  globe  of  level  long  reflections,  of  breadth  and 
space  and  solitude,  so  apt  for  thought.  Had  he  known, 
perhaps,  before  he  thought  of  dedication  to  the  church, 
young  Anna  Michieli,  between  whose  eyes  and  his,  from 
her  windows  in  the  doge's  palace  to  the  green  line  of  the 
Lido,  there  was  nothing  but  the  dazzle  of  the  sunshine  and 
the  ripple  of  the  sea?  Was  there  a  simple  romance  of  this 
natural  kind,  waiting  to  be  turned  into  joyful  fulfillment 
by  the  pope's  favorable  answer?  Or  had  the  novice  to 
gi^re  up  his  dreams  of  holy  seclusion,  or  those  highest,  all- 
engrossing  visions  of  ambition,  which  were  to  no  man 
more  open  than  to  a  bold  and  able  priest?  These  are 
questions  which  might  well  furnish  forth  pages  of  delicate 
description  and  discussion.  Naturally  the  old  chronicler 
has  no  thought  of  any  such  refinement.  The  pope  con- 
sented, and  the  doge  gave  his  daughter  to  young  Niccolo, 
**  whicli  thing  procured  the  continuance  in  the  city  of  the 
CasaGiustini  m,  in  which  afterward  flourished  men  of  the 
highest  intellect  and  great  orators,"  is  all  the  record  says. 
The  resuscitated  race  gave  many  notable  servants  to  the 
state,  although  no  doge  until  well  on  in  the  seventeenth 
century.  When  the  pair  thus  united  had  done  their  duty 
to  the  state,  Niccolo  Giustinian  re-dedicated  himself  in  his 
old  couvent  and   resumed   his  religious  profession;  while 


50  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Anna,  his  wife,  proceeded  to  her  chosen  nunnery,  and  there 
lived  a  life  so  holy  as  to  add  to  the  fame  of  her  family  by 
attaining  that  partial  canonization  which  is  represented  by 
tlie  title  of  Beata.  This,  one  cannot  but  feel,  was  an  ad- 
mirable way  of  making  the  best  of  both  worlds. 

^'  In  this  year,"  says  Sanudo,  **  there  were  brought  to 
Venice  from  Constantinople,  in  three  great  ships,  three 
mighty  columns  ;"  one  of  which  in  the  course  of  disem- 
barkation fell  into  the  sea,  and  remains  there,  it  is  to  be 
supposed,  till  this  day  ;  the  others  are  the  two  well-known 
pillars  of  the  Piazzetta.  We  need  not  repeat  the  story,  so 
often  told,  of  how  it  was  that,  no  one  being  able  to  raise 
them  to  their  place,  a  certain  Lombard,  Niccolo  of  the 
Barterers,  succeeded  in  doing  so  with  wetted  ropes,  and 
asked  in  return  for  permission  to  establish  a  gambling- 
table  in  the  space  between  them.  Sabellico  says  that  the 
privilege  granted  went  so  far  ^^that  every  kind  of  decep- 
tion" was  permitted  to  be  practiced  there:  but  it  can 
scarcely  be  supposed  that  even  a  sharp  Lombard  money- 
changer would  ask  so  much.  This  permission,  given  be- 
cause they  could  not  help  it,  having  foolishly  pledged 
their  word,  like  Herod,  was,  by  the  doge  and  his  counsel- 
ors, made  as  odious  as  possible  by  the  further  law  that  all 
public  executions  should  take  place  between  the  columns. 
It  was  a  fatal  place  to  land  at,  and  brought  disaster,  as 
was  afterward  seen  ;  but  its  evil  augury  seems  to  have  dis- 
appeared along  with  the  gaming-tables,  as  half  the  gon- 
dolas in  Venice  lie  at  its  margin  now.  The  columns  would 
seem  to  have  been  erected  in  the  year  1172,  but  whether 
by  Doge  Vitale  or  his  successor  is  uncertain. 

Other  improvements  were  done  under  this  doge  besides 
the  elevation  of  the  columns  in  the  Piazzetta.  He  filled 
up  the  canal  which  crossed  the  broad  space  of  the  Piazza, 
still  a  green  and  open  ground,  partly  orchards,  and  enliv- 
ened by  this  line  of  water — and  thus  prepared  the  way  for 
the  work  of  his  successor,  who  first  began  to  pave  it,  and 
surrounded  it  with  buildings  and  lines  of  porticoes,  sug- 
gesting, no  doubt,  its  present  form.  There  must,  how- 
ever, have  been  a  charm  in  the  greenness  and  trees  and 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  51 

sparkling  waters — grass  growing  and  foliage  waving  at  tlie 
feet  of  the  great  golden-crowned  Campanile,  and  adding  a 
brightness  of  nature  to  the  Byzantine  splendor  of  the 
church  and  palace.  The  Camera  degli  Imprestidi,  or  great 
Public  Loan  Office,  however — the  first  National  Bank  of 
Europe — is  more  important  to  history  than  even  the  cease- 
less improvements  of  the  city.  The  first  loan  is  said  to 
have  carried  interest  at  the  rate  of  four  per  cent — a  high 
rate  for  a  public  debt — and  the  organization  necessary  to 
arrange  and  regulate  it  seems  to  have  come  into  being  with 
wonderful  speed  and  completeness.  The  time  was  begin- 
ning when  the  constitution,  or  rather  want  of  constitution, 
of  the  ancient  republic,  full  of  the  accidents  and  hasty  ex- 
pedients of  an  infant  state,  would  no  longer  suffice  for  the 
gradually  rising  and  developing  city. 

None  of  these  things,  however,  stood  the  doge  in  stead 
when  he  came  back  beaten  and  humiliated,  with  the 
plague  in  his  ships,  to  face  his  judges  in  solemn  conclave 
in  San  Marco — a  tumultuous  assembly  of  alarmed  and 
half-maddened  men,  trembling  for  their  lives  and  for  the 
lives  of  those  dear  to  them,  and  stung  by  that  sense  of 
failure  which  was  intolerable  to  the  haughty  republic. 
This  was  in  the  month  of  May,  1172.  From  the  first  the 
meeting  must  have  bore  an  air  dangerous  to  the  doge, 
against  whom  there  began  to  rise  a  cry  that  he  was  the 
occasion  of  all  their  evils — of  the  war,  of  enforced  military 
service  and  compulsory  contributions,  and,  last  and  great- 
est, of  the  pestilence  which  he  had  brought  back  with  him. 
The  men  who  had  virtually  elected  him,  who  were  his 
friends,  and  had  shared  tlie  councils  of  his  reign,  would  no 
doubt  stand  by  him  so  far  as  their  fears  permitted:  but  the 
harmless  assembly  called  together  to  give  its  sanction  to  the 
election  of  a  new  and  popular  doge  is  very  different  from 
the  same  crowd  in  the  traditionary  power  of  its  general 
parliament,  assembling  angry  and  alarmed,  its  pride 
wounded  and  its  fears  excited,  to  pronounce  whose  fault 
these  misfortunes  were,  and  what  should  be  done  to  the 
offender.  The  loud  outcry  of  traditore,  so  ready  to  the 
lips    of  the    populace   in  such   circumstances,  resounded 


52  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

through  San  Marco,  and  there  were  ominous  murmurs  that 
the  doge's  head  was  in  danger.  He  tried  to  clear  himself 
by  a  touching  oration,  con  piangente  parole ,  says  one  : 
then  hastily  going  out  of  the  church  and  from  the  presence 
of  the  excited  assembly  took  his  way  toward  San  Zaccaria, 
along  the  Riva,  by  what  would  seem  to  be  a  little-fre- 
quented way.  As  he  passed  through  one  of  the  little  calli, 
or  lanes,  called  now,  tradition  says,  Calle  delle  Rasse,  some 
one  who  had,  or  thought  he  had,  a  special  grievance, 
sprang  out  upon  him  and  stabbed  him.     He  was  able  to 


ARMS  OF  THE  MICHIELI. 


drag  himself  to  San  Zaccaria  and  make  his  confession,  but 
no  more  :  and  there  died  and  was  buried.  The  people, 
horror-stricken  perhaps  by  the  sudden  execution  of  a  doom 
which  had  only  been  threatened,  gave  him  a  great  funeral, 
and  his  sudden  end  so  emphasized  the  necessity  of  a  rela- 
tion more  guarded  and  less  personal  between  the  chief 
ruler  and  the  city,  that  the  leading  minds  in  Venice  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  take  order  for  elections  more  formal  and 
a  constitution  more  exact.  There  had  been,  according  to 
primitive  rule,  two  counselors  of  permanent  character, 
and  an  indefinite  number  of  pregadi,  or  men  "  prayed  " 
to  help  the  doge — a  sort  of  informal  council  ;  but  these 
were  called  together  at  the  doge's  pleasure,  and  were  re- 
sponsible only  to  him.  The  steps  which  are  now  taken 
introduced  the  principle  of  elective  assemblies,  and  added 
many  new  precautions  for  the  choice  and  for  the  safety  of 
the  doge.     The  fact  which  we  have  already  remarked,  that 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  53 

all  the  names  *  given  belong  to  families  already  conspicu- 
ous in  Venice,  continued  with  equal  force  under  the  new 
rule.  No  doubt  the  elections  would  be  made  on  the  primi- 
tive principle,  one  man  suggesting  another,  all  of  the  same 
class  as  those  who,  without  the  forms  of  election,  had  hith- 
erto suggested  the  successive  princes,  for  the  sanction  of 
the  people.  But  the  mass  of  the  Venetians  probably 
thought  with  enthusiasm  that  they  had  taken  a  great  step 
toward  the  consolidation  of  their  liberties  when  they  elected 
these  Dandolos,  Faliers,  Morosinis,  and  the  rest,  to  be 
their  representatives,  and  do  authoritatively  what  they 
had  done  all  along  in  more  subtle  ways. 

Thus  ended  the  Doges  Michieli:  but  not  the  family, 
which  is  one  of  the  few  which  has  outlived  all  vicissitudes, 
and  still  has  a  habitation  and  a  name  in  Venice.  And  the 
new  regime  of  elective  government  began. 

*  Romanin  informs  us  that  a  few  names  of  the  people  appear  in 
early  documents  as  Stefano  Tinctor  (dyer),  Vitale  Staniario  (tin- 
worker),  etc. ,  but  these  are  so  few  as  to  prove  rather  than  confute 
the  almost  invariable  aristocratic  rule. 


54  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

EKRICO     DAKDOLO. 

The  first  beginnings  of  a  more  formal  mode  of  govern- 
ment thus  followed  close  upon  the  murder  of  Vitale  Michieli. 
The  troubles  of  the  state  under  his  rule,  as  well  as  the 
prompt  vengeance  taken  upon  him  by  the  infuriated  multi- 
tude, combined  to  make  it  apparent  that  it  was  not  for  the 
safety  or  dignity  of  Venice  either  to  remain  so  entirely  in 
the  hands  of  her  chief  magistrate,  or  to  bring  the  whole 
business  of  the  state  to  a  standstill,  and  impair  her  repu- 
tation among  foreign  countries  by  his  murder.  The  re- 
public had  thus  arrived  at  a  comprehension  of  the  idea 
which  governments  of  much  later  date  have  also  had  im- 
pressed upon  them  painfully,  that  the  person  of  the  head 
of  the  state  ought  to  be  sacrosafito,  sacred  from  violence. 
And  no  doubt  the  rising  complications  of  public  life,  the 
growth  of  the  rich  and  powerful  community  in  which  per- 
sonal character  was  so  strong,  and  so  many  interests  existed, 
now  demanded  established  institutions,  and  a  rule  less 
primitive  than  that  of  a  prince  with  both  the  legislative  and 
executive  power  in  his  hands,  even  when  kept  in  check  by 
a  counselor  or  two,  and  the  vague  mass  of  the  people,  by 
whom  his  proceedings  had  to  be  approved  or  non-approved 
after  an  oration  skillfully  prepared  to  move  the  popular 
mind.  The  Consiglio  Maggiore,  the  great  Venetian  parlia- 
ment, afterward  so  curiously  limited,  came  into  being  at 
this  crisis  in  the  national  history.  The  mode  of  its  first 
selection  reads  like  the  description  of  a  Chinese  puzzle;  and 
perhaps  the  subtle,  yet  artless  complication  of  elections 
ending  at  last  in  the  doge,  may  be  taken  as  a  sort  of  appeal 
to  the  fates,  by  a  community  not  very  confident  in  their 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  55 

own  powers,  and  bent  upon  outwitting  destiny  itself.  Two 
men  were  first  chosen  by  each  sestiere  or  district  (a  division 
which  had  been  made  only  a  short  time  before  for  the  con- 
venience of  raising  funds  for  Doge  Vitale's  fatal  ex- 
pedition), each  of  whom  nominated  forty  of  the  best  citi- 
zens thus  forming  the  Great  Council,  who  in  their  turn, 
elected  eleven  representatives  who  elected  tlie  doge.  The 
latter  arrangement  was  changed  on  several  occasions  before 
that  which  commended  itself  as  the  best,  and  which  was 
more  artificial  and  childishly  elaborate  still,  was  chosen  at 
last. 

The  people  were  little  satisfied  at  first  with  this  con- 
stitutional change,  and  there  were  tumults  and  threatened 
insurrections  in  anticipation  of  the  new  body  of  electors, 
and  of  the  choice  of  a  prince  otherwise  than  by  acclamation 
of  the  whole  community  assembled  in  San  Marco.  *^  It  was 
in  consequence  ordained,"  says  Romanin,  **  that  the  new 
doge  should  be  presented  to  the  multitude  with  these 
words:  'This  is  your  doge,  if  it  pleases  you,'  and  by  this 
means  the  tumult  was  stilled.''  So  easy  is  it  to  deceive  the 
multitude!  What  difference  the  new  rules  made  in  reality 
it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  The  council  was  made  up  of 
the  same  men  who  had  always  ruled  Venice.  A  larger 
number  no  doubt  had  actual  power,  but  there  was  no 
change  of  hands.  The  same  fact  we  have  already  noted,  as 
evident  through  all  the  history  of  the  republic.  New  names 
rarely  rise  out  of  the  crowd.  The  families  from  among 
whom  all  functionaries  were  chosen  at  the  beginning  of  all 
things  still  held  power  at  the  end. 

The  power  of  the  doge  was  greatly  limited  by  these  new 
laws  but  at  least  his  person  was  safe.  He  might  be  relieved 
from  his  office,  as  happened  sometimes,  but  save  in  one 
memorable  instance  he  was  no  longer  liable  to  violence. 
And  he  was  surrounded  by  greater  state  and  received  all  the 
semi-oriental  honors  which  could  adorn  a  pageant.  Sebas- 
tiano  Ziani,  the  first  doge  chosen  under  the  new  order,  was 
carried  in  triumph  round  the  Piazza,  throwing  money  to 
the  crowd  from  his  unsteady  seat.  Whether  this  was  his 
own  idea  (for  he  was  very  rich  and  liberal),  or  whether  it 


56  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

was  suggested  to  him  as  a  way  of  increasing  his  popularity, 
we  are  not  told;  but  the  jealous  artistocrats  about  him,  who 
had  just  got  hold  of  the  power  of  law-making,  and  evi- 
dently thought  there  could  not  be  too  detailed  a  code, 
seized  upon  the  idea,  perceiving  at  once  its  picturesque  and 
attractive  possibilities  and  its  dangers,  and  decided  that 
this  largesse  should  always  be  given  by  a  new  doge,  but 
settled  the  sum,  not  less  than  a  hundred,  nor  more  than  a 
hundred  and  fifty  ducats,  with  jealous  determination  that 
no  wealthy  potenate  should  steal  the  hearts  of  the  populace 
with  gifts.  There  came  to  be  in  later  times  a  special  coin- 
age for  the  purpose,  called  Oselle,  of  which  specimens  are 
still  to  be  found,  and  which  antiquarians,  or  rather  those 
lovers  of  the  curious  who  have  swamped  the  true  anti- 
quarian, '^pick  up"  wherever  they  appear. 

Sebastiano  Ziani,  according  to  some  of  our  chroniclers, 
was  not  the  man  upon  whom  the  eleven  electors  first  fixed 
their  choice,  who  was,  it  is  said,  Aurio,  or  Orio  Mas- 
tropiero,  the  companion  of  Ziani  in  a  recent  ambassage  and 
his  friend — who  pointed  out  that  Ziana  was  much  older 
and  richer  than  himself,  and  that  it  would  be  to  the 
greater  advantage  of  Venice  that  he  should  be  chosen,  a 
magnanimous  piece  of  advice.  This  story,  unfortunately, 
is  not  authenticated;  neither  is  the  much  more  important 
one  of  the  romantic  circumstances  touching  the  encounter  of 
Pope  Alexander  III.  and  the  Emperor  Barbarossa  at  Venice, 
which  the  too  conscientious  historian,  Romanin  (not  to 
speak  of  his  authorities),  will  not  hear  of,  notwithstanding 
the  assertions  of  Sanudo,  Sabellico  and  the  rest,  and  the 
popular  faith  and  the  pictures  in  the  ducal  palace,  all  of 
which  maintain  it  strongly.  The  popular  tale  is  as  follows. 
It  is  painted  in  the  hall  of  the  Maggiore  Consiglio,  where 
all  the  world  may  see. 

The  pope,  driven  from  Rome  by  the  enmity  of  the  em- 
peror, after  many  wanderings  about  the  world,  took  refuge 
in  Venice,  where  he  concealed  himself  in  the  humble 
habit  of  a  friar,  acting,  as  some  say,  as  cook  to  the  breth- 
ren in  the  convent  of  La  Carita.  The  doge,  hearing  how 
great  a  personage  was  in  the  city,  hurried  to  visit  him,  and 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  67 

to  give  him  a  lodging  worthy  of  his  dignity;  then  sent 
ambassadors  to  intercede  with  Barbarossa  on  his  behalf. 
He  of  the  red  beard  received  benignly  the  orators  of  the 
great  republic  ;  but  when  he  heard  tl)eir  errand,  changed 
countenance,  and  bade  them  tell  the  doge  that  unless  he 
delivered  up  the  fugitive  pope  it  would  be  the  worse  for 
him — that  the  eagle  should  fly  into  the  church  of  San 
Marco,  and  that  its  foundation  should  be  made  as  a 
plowed  field.  Such  words  as  these  were  not  apt  to  Vene- 
tian ears.  The  whole  city  rose  as  one  man,  and  an  armata 
was  immediately  prepared  to  resist  any  that  might  be  sent 
against  Venice.  The  doge  himself,  though  an  old  man 
over  seventy,  led  the  fleet.  Mass  was  said  solemnly  in  San 
Marco  by  the  pontiff  himself,  who  girded  his  loyal  defender 
with  a  golden  sword,  and  blessed  him  as  he  went  forth  to 
battle.  There  were  seventy-five  galleys  on  the  opposite 
side,  commanded  by  young  Prince  Otto,  the  son  of  Bar- 
barossa, and  but  thirty  on  that  of  Venice.  It  was  once 
more  the  Day  of  the  Ascension — that  fortunate  day  for  the 
republic — when  the  two  fleets  met  in  the  Adriatic.  The 
encounter  ended  in  complete  defeat  to  the  imperial  ships, 
of  which  forty  were  taken,  along  with  the  commander. 
Otto,  and  many  of  his  most  distinguished  followers.  The 
Venetians  went  home  with  natural  exultation,  sending  be- 
fore them  the  glorious  news,  which  was  so  unexpected, 
and  so  speedy,  that  the  whole  city  rushed  to  the  Riva  with 
half-incredulous  wonder  and  joy  to  see  the  victors  disem- 
bark with  their  prisoners,  among  them  the  son  of  the  great 
German  prince  who  had  set  out  with  the  intention  of 
planting  his  eagles  in  San  Marco.  The  pope  himself  came 
down  to  the  Riva  to  meet  the  victorious  doge,  and  draw- 
ing a  ring  from  his  finger  gave  it  to  his  deliverer,  hailing 
him  as  the  lord  and  master  of  the  sea.  It  was  on  Ascension 
Day  that  Pietro  Orseolo  had  set  out  from  Venice  on  the 
triumphant  expedition  which  ended  in  the  extermination 
of  the  pirates,  and  the  extension  of  the  Venetian  sway  over 
all  the  coast  of  the  Adriatic — and  then  it  was,  according  to 
our  chroniclers,  that  the  feast  of  the  Spomlizio,  the  wed- 
ding of  the  sea,  had  been  first  established.     But  by  this 


58  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

time  they  have  forgotten  that  early  hint,  and  here  we  have 
once  more,  and  with  more  detailed  authorities,  the  insti- 
tution of  this  great  and  picturesque  ceremony. 

Prince  Otto  was  nobly  treated  by  his  captors,  and  after 
awhile  undertook  to  be  their  ambassador  to  his  father, 
and  was  sent  on  parole  to  Rome  to  the  emperor.  The  result 
was  that  Frederick  yielded  to  his  son^s  representations  and 
the  Venetian  prowess,  and  consented  to  go  to  Venice,  and 
there  be  reconciled  to  the  pope.  The  meeting  took  place 
before  the  gates  of  San  Marco,  where  his  holiness,  in  all 
his  splendor,  seated  in  a  great  chair  {grande  e  lionoratis- 
sima  sedia),  awaited  the  coming  of  his  rival.  Popular  tra- 
dition never  imagined  a  more  striking  scene  :  the  Piazza 
outside  thronged,  every  window,  balcony  and  housetop, 
with  eager  spectators,  used  to  form  part  of  every  public 
event  and  spectacle,  and  knowing  exactly  every  coign  of 
vantage,  and  how  to  see  a  pageant  best.  The  great  Fred- 
erick, the  story  goes,  approached  the  seat  where  the  vicar 
of  Christ  awaited  him,  and  subduing  his  pride  to  necessity, 
knelt  and  kissed  the  pope's  foot.  Alexander,  on  his  part, 
as  proud  and  elated  with  his  victory,  raised  his  foot  and 
planted  it  on  Barbarossa^'s  neck,  intoning  as  he  did  so,  as 
Sabellico  says,  that  Psalm  of  David,  '^  Super  aspidem  et 
hasilicum  mnhulabis.'^  The  emperor,  with  a  suppressed 
roar  of  defiance  in  his  red  beard,  exclaimed,  *'Not  thee, 
but  Peter!"  To  which  the  pope,  like  one  enraged,  plant- 
ing his  foot  more  firmly,  replied,  "  Both  I  and  Peter.'' 
One  can  imagine  this  brief  colloquy  carried  on,  under  their 
breath,  fierce  and  terse,  when  the  two  enemies,  greatest  in 
all  the  western  hemisphere,  met  in  forced  amity  ;  and  how 
the  good  doge,  amiable  peacemaker  and  master  of  the 
ceremonies,  and  all  the  alarmed  nobles,  and  the  crowds  of 
spectators,  ripe  for  any  wonder,  must  have  looked  on, 
marveling  what  words  of  blessing  they  were  saying  to  each 
other,  while  all  the  lesser  greatnesses  had  to  wait. 

But  the  later  historians  refuse  their  affirmation  to  this 
exceedingly  circumstantial,  most  picturesque,  and  it  must 
be  added,  most  natural  story.  Romanin  assures  us,  on  the 
faith  of  all  the  documents,  that  the  meeting  was  a  stately 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  5ft 

ceremonial,  arranged  by  pope  and  emperor,  without  either 
passion  or  humiliation  in  it ;  that  the  pope  was  not  a  fugitive 
in  Venice,  and  that  the  emperor  never  threatened  to  fly  his 
eagles  into  San  Marco  ;  that  Prince  Otto  never  was  made 
prisoner,  and  that  the  pontiff  received  with  nothing  less 
satisfactory  than  a  kiss  of  peace  the  formal  homage  of 
the  emperor.  The  facts  are  hard  to  deny,  and  no  doubt 
Romanin  is  right.  But  there  is  a  depth  of  human  nature 
in  the  fable,  which  the  facts  do  not  reveal.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  imagine  anything  more  likely  to  be  true  than  that 
brief  interchange  of  words,  the  churchman's  triumph,  and 
the  statesman's  unwilling  submission. 

The  story  goes  on  to  tell  how  Doge  Ziani  escorted  his  two 
splendid  guests  to  Ancona,  where  the  pope  and  the  em- 
peror were  presented  with  umbrellas — a  tribute  apparently 
made  to  their  exalted  rank  :  whereupon  the  pope  requested 
that  a  third  might  be  brought  :  '^  Manca  la  terza  pel  Doge 
de  Venezia  clii  hen  lo  merita,"  from  which  incident  arose 
the  use  of  this  royal,  if  unimposing  article  by  the  doges 
ever  after.  The  pope  had  proviously  granted  the  privilege 
of  sealing  with  lead  instead  of  wax — another  imperial  attri- 
bute. To  all  this  picturesque  narrative  Romanin  again  pre- 
sents an  array  of  chilling  facts,  proving  that  the  pope  and 
emperor  left  Venice  singly  on  different  dates,  and  that  the 
doges  of  Venice  had  carried  the  umbrella  and  used  the 
leaden  bollo  long  before  Ziani — all  which  is  very  discon- 
certing. It  seems  to  be  true,  however,  that  during  the 
stay  of  the  pope  in  Venice  the  feast  of  the  Sensa — Ascen- 
sion Day — was  held  with  special  solemnity,  and  its  pageant 
fully  recorded  for  the  first  time.  The  doge  went  forth  in 
the  Bucintoro,  which  here  suddenly  springs  into  knowl- 
edge, all  decorated  and  glorious,  with  his  umbrella  over 
his  head,  a  white  flag  which  the  pope  had  given  him 
flying  beside  the  standard  of  St.  Mark,  the  silver  trumpets 
sounding,  the  clergy  with  him  and  all  the  great  potentates 
of  the  city,  and  Venice  following,  small  and  great,  in  every 
kind  of  barge  or  skiff  which  could  venture  on  the  lagoon. 
It  is  said  to  have  been  with  a  ring  which  the  pope  had  given 
him   that  old   Ziani  wedded    the  sea.     Whether  the  cer- 


60  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

emony  had  fallen  into  disuse,  or  if  our  chroniclers  merely 
forgot  that  they  had  assigned  it  to  an  earlier  date,  or  if 
this  was  the  moment  when  the  simpler  primitive  rite  was 
clianged  into  its  later  form  it  is  difficult  to  say.  It  must 
be  added  that  the  strange  travesty  of  history  thus  put  to- 
gether is  regarded  with  a  certain  doubt  by  the  chroniclers 
themselves.  Sabellico  for  one  falter  over  it.  He  would  not 
have  ventured  to  record,  it,  he  says  if  he  had  not  found  the 
account  confirmed  by  every  writer,  both  Venetian  and 
foreign.  ^^And,  "  says  Sanudo,  'Ms  it  not  depicted  in  the 
hall  of  the  great  council  ?  Se  non  fosse  stata  vera  i  nostri 
buoni  Venetiani  noil  avrehhero  mai  fatta  depingere :  \f  it 
had  not  been  true  our  good  Venetians  never  would  have 
had  it  painted.  " 

It  was  during  the  stormy  reign  of  Vitale  Michieli,  in  the 
midst  of  the  bitter  and  violent  quarrel  between  the  Greek 
Emperor  Emmanuel  and  the  Venetians,  when  ambassadors 
were  continually  coming  and  going,  that  an  outrage,  which 
cannot  be  called  other  than  historical,  and  yet  can  be  sup- 
ported by  no  valid  proof,  is  said  to  have  been  inflicted 
upon  one  of  the  messengers  of  Venice.  This  was  the  noble 
Arrigo  or  Enrico  Dandolo,  afterward  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  the  doges,  and  the  avenger  of  all  Venetian 
wrongs  upon  tlie  Greeks.  The  story  is  that  in  the  course 
of  some  supposed  diplomatic  consultation  he  was  seized 
and  had  his  eyes  })ut  out  by  red  liot  irons— according  to  a 
pleasant  custom  which  the  Greeks  of  that  day  indulged  in 
largely.  It  is  unlikely  that  this  could  be  true,  since  it  is 
impossible  to  believe  that  the  Venetians  would  have  re- 
sumed peaceable  negotiations  after  such  an  outrage;  but 
it  is  a  fact  that  Dandolo  has  always  been  called  the  blind 
doge,  and  even  the  scrupulous  Eomanin  finds  reason 
to  suppose  that  some  injury  had  been  inflicted  upon  the 
ambassadors.  Dandolo's  blindness,  however,  must  have 
been  only  comparative.  The  French  chronicler,  Ville- 
hardouin,  describes  him  as  having  fine  eyes  which  scarcely 
saw  anything,  and  attributes  this  to  the  fact  that  he  had 
lost  his  sight  from  a  wound  in  the  head.  Dandolo's  de- 
scendant^ successor,  and  historian,  however,  says  only  that 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  61 

he  war  of  v;-aV  vision,  and  as  he  was  at  the  time  eighty- 
,Lr\  tliere  '.^'  ■  '^  be  notliing  remarkable  in  that.     Enrico 
Dandolo  was  eU  ''  "•  <^^   after  the  death  of  Orio 

Mastrop  ietro,  wno  succbeuc^  ^.     \,  and  whose  reign  was 
not  marked  by  any  special  incident. 

Dandolo  was  the  first  doge,  if  not  to  sign  i\\Q 2^romissione 
or  solemn  ducal  oath  of  fidelity  to  all  the  laws  and  customs 
of  the  republic,  at  least  to  reach  the  period  of  history  when 
such  documents  began  to  be  preserved.  His  oath  is  full  of 
details,  which  show  the  jealousy  of  the  new  regime  in  de- 
fining and  limiting  the  doge's  powers.  He  vows  not  only 
to  rule  justly,  to  accept  no  bribes,  to  show  no  favoritism, 
to  subordinate  his  own  affairs  and  all  others  to  the  interests 
of  the  city,  but  also  not  to  write  letters  on  his  own  account 
to  the  pope  or  any  other  prince;  to  submit  his  own  affairs 
to  the  arbitrament  of  the  common  tribunals,  and  to  main- 
tain two  ships  of  war  at  his  own  expense — stipulations  which 
must  have  required  no  small  amount  of  self-control  on  the 
part  of  men  scarcely  as  yet  educated  to  the  duties  of  con- 
stitutional princes.  The  beginning  of  Dandolo's  reign  was 
distinguished  by  the  usual  expeditions  to  clear  the  Adriatic 
and  re-confirm  Venetian  supremacy  on  the  Dalmatian  coast; 
also,  by  what  was  beginning  to  be  equally  common,  certain 
conflicts  with  the  Pisans,  who  began  to  rival  Venice  in  the 
empire  of  the  seas.  These  smaller  commotions,  however, 
were  dwarfed  and  thrown  into  the  shade  by  the  great  ex- 
pedition, known  in  history  as  the  fourth  crusade,  which 
ended  in  the  destruction  of  Constantinople  and  great  ag- 
grandisement of  the  republic,  but,  so  far  as  the  objects  of 
the  crusade  were  concerned,  in  nothing. 

The  setting  out  of  this  expedition  affords  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  and  striking  scenes  in  Venetian  history, 
though  its  details  come  to  us  rather  from  the  chronicles  of 
the  crusade  than  from  the  ancient  historians  of  Venice, 
who  record  them  briefly  with  a  certain  indifference  and  at 
the  same  time  with  a  frankness  which  sounds  cynical. 
Perhaps  the  conviction  of  a  later  age  that  the  part  played 
by  Venice  was  not  a  very  noble  one,  may  have  here 
restrained  the  record.     **  In  those  days  a  great  occasion  pre- 


6^  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENtGB, 

sented  itself  to  the  Venetians  to  increase  their  dominions/^ 
Sabellico  says,  calmly  putting  aside  all  pretense  at  more 
generous  motives.  Villehardouin,  however,  has  left  a  suc- 
cession of  pictures  which  could  not  be  surpassed  in  graphic 
force,  and  which  place  all  the  preliminaries  before  us  in 
the  most  brilliant  daylight.  He  describes  how  the  French 
princes  who  had  taken  the  cross  sent  an  embassy  to  Venice 
in  order  to  arrange  if  possible  for  means  of  transport  to  the 
Holy  Land — six  noble  Frenchmen,  in  all  their  bravery  and 
fine  manners,  and  fortunately  with  that  one  among  them 
who  carried  a  pen  as  well  as  a  sword.  It  is  evident  that 
this  proposal  was  considered  on  either  side  as  highly  im- 
portant, and  was  far  from  being  made  or  received  as  merely 
a  matter  of  business.  The  French  messengers  threw  them- 
selves at  once  upon  the  generosity,  the  Christian  feeling,  of 
the  masters  of  the  sea.  Money  and  men  they  had  in  plenty; 
but  only  Venice,  so  powerful  on  the  seas,  so  rich,  and  at 
peace  with  all  her  neighbors,  could  give  them  ships.  From 
the  beginning  their  application  is  an  entreaty,  and  their 
prayers  supported  by  every  argument  that  earnestness  could 
suggest.  The  doge  received  them  in  the  same  solemn  man- 
ner, submitting  their  petition  to  the  council,  and  requiring 
again  and  again  certain  days  of  delay  in  order  that  the  mat- 
ter should  be  fully  debated.  It  was  at  last  settled  with 
royal  magnificence  not  only  that  the  ships  should  be 
granted,  but  that  the  republic  should  fit  out  fifty  galleys  of 
her  own  to  increase  the  force  of  the  expedition;  after  which 
everything  being  settled  (which  again  throws  a  curious  side- 
light upon  popular  government),  the  doge  called  the  Vene- 
tians together  in  San  Marco — ten  thousand  of  them  in  the 
most  beautiful  church  that  ever  was,  says  the  Frenchman — 
and  bade  the  strangers  ple^d  their  own  cause  before  the 
people.  When  we  consider  that  everything  was  arranged 
beforehand,  it  takes  something  from  the  effect  of  the  scene, 
and  suggests  uncomfortable  ideas  of  solemn  deceits  practiced 
upon  the  populace  in  all  such  circumstances — but  in  itself 
the  picture  is  magnificent. 

Mass  being  celebrated,  the  doge  called  the  ambassadors, 
and  told  them  to  ask  humbly  of  the  people   whether  the 


HIGH  ALTAR  OF  S.  MARCO. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  63 

proposed  arrangement  should  be  carried  into  effect.  God- 
frey de  Villehardouin  then  stood  forth  to  speak  in  the  name 
of  all,  with  the  following  result: 

"  Messieurs,  the  noblest  and  most  powerful  barons  of  France  have 
sent  us  to  you  to  pray  you  to  have  pity  upon  Jerusalem  in  bondage  to 
the  Turk,  and  for  the  love  of  God  to  accompany  us  to  avenge  tbe 
shame  of  Christ;  and  knowing  that  no  nation  is  so  powerful  on  the 
seas  as  you,  they  have  charged  us  to  implore  your  aid  and  not  to 
rise  from  our  knees  till  you  have  consented  to  have  pity  upon  the 
Holy  Land." 

"With  this  the  six  ambassadors  knelt  down  weeping.  The  doge 
and  all  the  people  then  cried  out  with  one  voice,  raising  their  hands 
lo  heaven,  '  We  grant  it,  we  grant  it!'  And  so  great  was  the  sound 
that  nothing  ever  equaled  it.  The  good  doge  of  Venice,  who  was 
most  wise  and  brave,  then  ascended  the  pulpit  and  spoke  to  the 
people.  'Signori,' he  said,  'you  see  the  honor  which  God  has  done 
you  that  the  greatest  nation  on  earth  has  left  all  other  peoples  in 
order  to  ask  your  company,  that  you  should  share  with  them  this 
great  undertaking  which  is  the  re-conquest  of  Jerusalem.'  Many 
other  fine  and  wise  things  were  said  by  the  doge  which  I  cannot  here 
recount.     And  thus  the  matter  was  concluded." 

It  must  have  been  a  strange  and  imposing  sight  for  tliese 
feudal  lords  to  see  the  crowd  that  filled  San  Marco,  and 
overflowed  in  the  Piazza,  the  vast  trading,  seafaring  multi- 
tude tanned  with  the  sunshine  and  the  sea,  full  of  their 
own  importance;  listening  like  men  who  had  to  do  it,  no 
submissive  crowd  of  vassals,  but  each  conscious  (though,  as 
we  have  seen,  with  but  little  reason)  that  he  individually 
was  appealed  to,  while  those  splendid  petitioners  knelt  and 
wept — moved  no  doubt  on  their  side  by  that  wonderful  sea 
of  faces,  by  the  strange  circumstances,  and  the  rising  wave 
of  enthusiasm  which  began  to  move  tlie  crowd.  'J'he  old 
doge,  rising  up  in  the  pulpit,  looking  with  dim  eyes  across 
the  heads  of  the  multitude,  with  the  great  clamor  of  the 
**  Co7icediamo  "  still  echoing  under  the  dome,  the  shout  of 
an  enthusiastic  nation,  gives  the  last  touch  of  pictorial 
effect.  His  eyes  still  glowed,  though  there  was  so  little 
vision  in  them;  pride  and  policy  and  religious  enthusiasm 
all  mingled  in  his  words  and  looks.  Tlie  greatest  nation  of 
the  world  had  corneas  a  suppliant — who  could  refuse  her 


64  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

petition?  This  was  in  the  winter,  early  in  the  year  1201. 
It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the  wintry  afternoon,  the  dim 
glories  of  the  choir  going  off  into  a  golden  gloom  behind, 
the  lights  glimmering  upon  the  altars,  the  confused  move- 
ment and  emotion  of  the  countless  crowd,  indistinct  under 
the  great  arches,  extending  into  every  corner — while  all  the 
light  there  was  concentrated  in  the  white  hair  and  cloth  of 
gold  of  the  venerable  figure  to  which  every  eye  was  turned, 
standing  up  against  the  screen  at  the  foot  of  the  great 
cross. 

The  republic  by  this  bargain  was  pledged  to  provide 
transport  for  four  thousand  five  hundred  cavaliers,  and 
nearly  thirty  thousand  men  on  foot:  along  with  provisions  for 
a  year  for  this  multitude;  for  which  the  Frenchmen  pledged 
themselves  to  pay  eighty-five  thousand  silver  marks  *^  ac- 
cording to  the  weight  of  Boulogne, ""  in  four  different  instal- 
ments. The  contingent  of  Venice,  apart  from  this,  was 
to  consist  of  fifty  galleys.  The  ships  were  to  be  ready  at 
the  feast  of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul  in  the  same  year,  when  the 
first  instalment  of  the  money  was  to  be  paid. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  while  the  workmen  in  the 
arsenal  were  busily  at  work,  and  trade  must  have  quickened 
thi'oughout  Venice,  various  misfortunes  happened  to  the 
other  parties  to  the  engagement.  Young  Thibaut  of 
Champagne  died  in  the  flower  of  his  youth,  and  many  small 
parties  of  Crusaders  went  off  from  other  quarters  in  other 
vessels  than  those  of  Venice:  so  that  when  at  last  the  ex- 
pedition arrived  it  was  considerably  diminished  in  numbers 
and,  what  was  still  more  disastrous,  the  leaders  found 
themselves  unable  to  pay  the  first  instalment  of  the  ap- 
pointed price.  The  knights  denuded  themselves  of  all 
their  valuables,  but  this  was  still  insufficient.  In  these 
circumstances  an  arrangement  was  resorted  to  which  pro- 
duced many  and  great  complications,  and  changed  alto- 
gether the  character  of  the  expedition.  Venice  has  been 
in  consequence  reproached  with  the  worldlinessand  selfish- 
ness of  her  intentions.  It  has  been  made  to  appear  that 
her  religious  fervor  was  altogether  false,  and  her  desire  to 
push  her  own  interests  her  sole  motive.     No  one  will  at- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VSmCE,  65 

tempt  to  deny  iliat  this  kind  of  selfishness,  which  in  other 
words  is  often  culled  patriotism,  was  very  strong  in  her. 
But  on  the  other  side  it  would  be  hard  to  say  that  it  was 
with  any  far-seeing  plan  of  self-aggrandizement  that  the 
republic  began  this  great  campaign,  or  that  Dandolo  and 
his  counselors  perceived  how  far  they  should  go  before 
their  enterprise  was  biouglit  to  an  end.  Tliey  were  led  on 
from  point  to  point  like  those  wliom  they  influenced,  and 
were  themselves  betrayed  by  circumstances  and  a  crowd  of 
secondary  motives,  as  well  as  the  allies  whom  they  are  be- 
lieved to  have  betrayed. 

The  arrangement  proposed  was,  since  the  Crusaders 
could  not  pay  the  price  agreed  for  their  ships,  that  they 
should  delay  their  voyage  to  the  Holy  Land  long  enough  to 
help  the  Venetians  in  subduing  Zara,  which  turbulent  city 
had  again,  as  on  every  possible  occasion,  rebelled.  The 
greater  part  of  the  P'renchmen  accepted  the  proposal  with 
alacrity;  though  some  objected  that  to  turn  their  arms 
against  Ciiristians,  however  rebellious,  was  not  the  object  of 
the  soldiers  of  the  cross.  In  the  long  run,  however,  and 
notwithstanding  the  remonstrances  of  Pope  Innocent,  of 
which  the  inde})endent  Venetians  made  light,  the  bargain 
was  accepted  on  all  hands,  and  all  the  preliminaries  con- 
cluded at  last.  Another  of  the  wonderful  scenic  displays 
with  which  almost  every  important  step  was  accompanied 
in  V^enice  took  place  before  the  final  start. 


"One day,  upon  a  Sunday,  all  the  people  of  the  city,  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  barons  and  pilgrims,  met  in  San  Marco.  Before 
mass  began,  the  doge  rose  in  the  pulpit  and  spoke  to  the  people  in 
this  manner: — '  Signori,  you  are  associated  with  the  greatest  nation  in 
the  world  in  the  most  important  matter  which  can  be  undertaken  by 
men.  1  am  old  and  weak  and  need  rest,  having  many  troubles  in  the 
body,  but  I  perceive  that  none  can  so  well  guide  and  govern  you  as  I 
who  am  your  lord.  If  you  will  consent  that  I  should  take  the  sign  of 
the  cross  to  care  for  you  and  direct  you,  and  that  my  son  should 
in  my  stead,  regulate  the  affairs  of  the  city,  I  will  go  to  live  and  die 
with  you  and  the  pilgrims.' 

"  When  they  heard  this,  they  cried  with  one  voice,  *  Yes!  we  pray 
you,  in  the  name  of  God,  take  it  and  come  with  us.' 

"  Then  the  people  of  the  country   and  the  pilgrims  were  greatly 


66  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

moved  and  slied  many  tears,  because  tliis  heroic  man  bad  so  many 
reasons  lor  remaining  at  bome,  being  old.  But  be  was  strong  and  of 
a  great  beart.  Hetben  descended  from  tbe  pulpit  and  knelt  before 
tbe  altar  weeping,  and  tbe  cross  was  sewn  upon  tbe  front  of  bis 
great  cap,  so  tbat  all  migbt  see  it.  And  tbe  Venetians  tbat  day  in 
great  numbers  took  tbe  cross." 

It  was  in  October,  1202,  tbat  tbe  expedition  finally  sailed, 
a  great  fleet  of  nearly  tbree  hundred  sliips  :  tbe  Freneli- 
men  in  tbeir  sbining  mail  witb  their  great  war-borses  fur- 
nisbing  a  wonderful  spectacle  for  tbe  Venetians,  to  whom 
tbese  noble  creatures,  led  unwillingly  on  board  tbe  galleys, 
were  so  little  familiar.  Tbe  wbole  city  watched  the  em- 
barkation with  excitement  and  high  commotion,  no  doubt 
witb  many  a  woman's  tears  and  wistful  looks,  anguish  of 
tbe  old,  and  more  impassioned  grief  of  tbe  young,  as  the 
fifty  galleys  which  contained  tbe  Venetian  contingent 
slowly  filled  with  all  tbe  best  in  tbe  republic,  tbe  old  doge 
at  tbeir  head.  Bound  for  tbe  Holy  Land,  to  deliver  it 
from  tbe  infidel ! — tbat  no  doubt  was  what  tbe  people  be- 
lieved who  bad  granted  with  acclamation  tbeir  aid  to  tbe 
barons  in  San  Marco.  And  to  watch  tbe  great  fleet  which 
streamed  along  with  all  its  sails  against  the  sunshine 
through  tbe  tortuous  narrow  channels  tbat  thread  the 
lagoon,  line  after  line  of  high-beaked  painted  galleys,  with 
their  endless  oars,  and  all  their  bravery,  it  must  have 
seemed  as  if  tbe  very  sea  bad  become  populous,  and  such  a 
host  must  carry  all  before  them.  Days  must  have  passed 
in  bustle  and  commotion  ere,  witb  the  rude  appliances  of 
tbeir  time,  tbree  hundred  vessels  could  have  been  got  un- 
der way.  Tbey  streamed  down  the  Adriatic,  a  maritime 
army  rather  than  a  fleet,  imposing  to  heboid,  frigbtening 
tbe  turbulent  towns  along  tbe  coast  which  were  so  ready 
wben  tbe  Venetian  galleys  were  out  of  sight  to  rebel — and 
arrived  before  Zara  in  crushing  strength.  The  citizens 
closed  tbe  harbor  with  a  chain,  and  with  a  garrison  of 
Hungarians  to  help  them,  made  a  brave  attempt  to  defend 
themselves.  But  against  such  an  overwhelming  force  tbeir 
efforts  were  in  vain,  and  after  a  resistance  of  five  days,  the 
city  surrendered.     It  was  by  this  time  the  middle  of  No- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  67 

vember,  and  to  tempt  the  wintry  sea  at  that  season  was  con- 
trary to  the  habits  of  the  time.  The  expedition  accord- 
ingly remained  at  Zara,  wliere  many  things  took  place 
which  decided  the  course  of  its  after  movements.  It  was 
not  a  peaceful  pause.  The  French  and  the  Venetians 
quarreled  in  the  first  place  over  their  booty  or  their  privi- 
leges in  the  sacked  and  miserable  city.  When  that  up- 
roar was  calmed,  which  took  the  leaders  some  time,  another 
trouble  arrived  in  the  shape  of  letters  from  Pope  Innocent, 
which  disturbed  the  French  cliiefs  greatly,  though  the  old 
doge  and  his  counselors  paid  but  little  attention.  Innocent 
called  the  Crusaders  to  account  for  shedding  Christian 
blood  when  they  ought  to  have  been  shedding  pagan,  and 
for  sacking  a  city  which  belonged  to  their  brethren  in  the 
faith,  to  whom  he  commanded  them  to  make  restitution 
and  reparation.  Whether  the  penitent  barons  gave  up 
their  share  of  the  booty  is  not  told  us,  but  they  wrote  hum- 
ble letters  asking  pardon,  and  declaring  that  to  take  Zara 
was  a  necessity  which  they  had  no  power  to  resist.  The 
pope  was  moved  by  their  submission,  but  commanded 
them  to  proceed  to  Syria  with  all  possible  speed,  **  neither 
turning  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left/'  and  as  soon  as 
they  had  disembarked  on  the  Syrian  shores  to  separate 
themselves  from  the  Venetians,  who  seem  to  have  been 
excommunicated  (which  did  not  greatly  disturb  them)  for 
their  indifference  to  the  papal  commands. 

This  correspondence  with  Rome  must  have  given  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  variety,  if  not  of  a  very  agreeable  kind,  to 
the  winter  sojourn  on  the  Adriatic,  confused  with  tumults 
of  the  soldiery  and  incessant  alarms  lest  their  quarrels 
should  break  out  afresh,  quarrels  which — carried  on  in  the 
midst  of  a  hostile  people  bitterly  rejoicing  to  see  their  con- 
querors at  enmity  among  themselves,  and  encouraged  by 
the  knowledge  that  the  pope  had  interfered  on  their  behalf 
— must  have  made  the  invaders  doubly  uncomfortable. 
From  the  Venetian  side  there  is  not  a  word  of  the  excom- 
munication leveled  against  themselves,  and  generally  so  ter- 
rible a  weapon.  Such  punishments  perhaps  were  more 
easily  borne  abroad  than  at  home,  and  the  republic  already 


68  THBJ  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

stoutly  held   its  indepenclence  from  all  external  interfer- 
ence. 

While  Pope  Innocent's  letters  were  thus  occupying  all 
minds,  and  the  French  Crusaders  chafing  at  the  delay, 
and  perhaps  also  at  the  absence  of  all  excitement  and  occu- 
pation in  the  Dalmatian  town,  another  incident  occurred 
of  the  most  picturesque  character,  as  well  as  of  the  pro- 
foundest  importance.  This  was — first,  the  arrival  of  am- 
bassadors from  the  Emperor  Philip  of  Swabia,  with  letters 
recommending  the  youug  Alexius,  the  son  of  Isaac,  de- 
throned emperor  of  the  Greeks,  to  the  Crusaders  :  and 
secondly  that  young  prince  himself,  an  exile  and  wanderer, 
with  all  the  recommendations  of  injured  helplessness  and 
youth  in  his  favor.  The  ambassadors  brought  letters  tell- 
ing such  a  story  as  was  most  fit  to  move  the  chivalrous 
leaders  of  the  Christian  host.  The  youth  for  whom  theii 
appeal  was  made  was  the  true  heir  of  the  great  house  of 
Comnenus,  born  in  the  purple,  a  young  Hamlet  whose 
father  had  been,  not  killed,  but  overthrown,  blinded,  and 
imprisoned  by  his  own  brother,  and  now  lay  miserable  in  a 
dungeon  at  Constantinople  while  the  usurper  reigned  in 
his  stead.  What  tale  so  likely  to  move  the  pity  of  the 
knights  and  barons  of  France  ?  And,  the  suppliants 
added,  what  enterprise  so  fit  to  promote  and  facilitate  the 
object  of  the  Crusaders  ?  For  Constantinople  had  always 
been  a  difficulty  in  the  way  of  the  conquest  of  Syria,  and 
now  more  than  ever,  when  a  false  and  cruel  usurper  was 
on  the  throne ;  whereas  if  old  Isaac  and  his  young  son 
were  restored,  the  crusaders  would  secure  a  firm  foot- 
ing, a  stronghold  of  moral  as  well  as  physical  support  in 
the  East,  which  would  make  their  work  easy.  One  can 
imagine  the  high  excitement,  the  keen  discussions,  the 
eagerness  of  some,  the  reluctance  of  others,  the  heat  of 
debate  and  diverse  opinion  which  arose  in  the  camp.  There 
were  some  among  the  pilgrims  upon  whom  the  pope's  dis- 
approval lay  heavy,  and  who  longed  for  nothing  so  much 
as  to  get  away,  to  have  the  wearisome  preliminaries  of  the 
voyage  over,  and  to  find  themselves  upon  the  holy  soil 
which  they  had  set  out  to  deliver  ;  while  there  were  some. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  69 

perhaps  more  generous  than  devout,  to  wliom  the  story  of 
the  poor  young  prince,  errant  through  the  workl  in  search 
of  succor,  and  the  blind  inii)erial  prisoner  in  the  dungeon, 
was  touching  beyond  description,  calling  forth  every  senti- 
ment of  knighthood.  The  Venetians  iiad  still  another 
most  moving  motive  ;  it  seems  scarcely  possible  to  believe 
that  they  did  not  at  once  perceive  the  immense  and  incal- 
culable interests  involved.  They  were  men  of  strictly 
practical  vision,  and  Constantinople  was  their  market-place 
at  once  and  their  harvest  ground.  To  establish  a  perma- 
nent footing  there  by  all  the  laws  of  honor  and  gratitude, 
what  a  thing  for  Venice  !  It  is  not  necessary  to  conclude 
that  they  were  untouched  by  other  inducements.  They, 
better  than  any,  knew  how  many  hindrances  Constanti- 
nople could  throw  in  the  way,  how  treacherous  her  support 
was,  how  cunning  her  enmity,  and  what  an  advantage  it 
would  be  to  all  future  enterprises  if  a  power  bound  to  the 
west  by  solid  obligations  could  be  established  on  the  Bos- 
phorous.  Nor  is  it  to  be  supposed  that  as  men  they  were 
inaccessible  to  the  pleas  of  humanity  and  justice  urged  by 
Philip.  But  at  the  same  time  the  dazzle  of  the  extraor- 
dinary advantages  thus  set  before  themselves  must  have  been 
as  a  glamor  in  their  eyes. 

It  was  while  the  whole  immense  tumultuous  band,  the 
Frenchmen  and  the  knights  of  Flanders,  the  barons  of  the 
Low  Country,  the  sailor  princes  of  the  republic,  were  in 
full  agitation  over  this  momentous  question,  and  all  was 
uncertainty  and  confusion,  that  the  young  Alexius  arrived 
at  Zara.  There  was  a  momentary  lull  in  the  agitation  to 
receive  as  was  his  due,  this  imperial  wanderer,  so  young, 
so  high-born,  so  unfortunate.  The  Marquis  of  Montserrato 
was  his  near  kinsman,  his  rank  was  undoubted,  and  his 
misfortunes,  the  highest  claim  of  all,  were  known  to  every 
one.  The  troops  were  turned  out  to  receive  him  with  all 
the  pomp  of  military  display,  the  doge's  silver  trumpets 
sounding,  and  all  that  the  Crusaders  could  boast  of  in  mu- 
sic and  magnificence.  The  monks  who  had  been  pressing 
hotly  from  band  to  band  urging  Pope  Innocent's  com- 
mands and  the  woes  of  Jerusalem  ;  the  warlike  leaders 


70  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

who  had  been  anxiously  attempting  to  reconcile  their  de- 
clared purpose  with  the  strong  temptations  of  such  a  chival- 
rous undertaking — all  for  tlie  moment  arrested  their  argu- 
ments, their  self-reasonings,  tlieir  mutual  upbraidings  to 
hear  what  their  young  guest  had  to  say.  And  Alexius  had 
everything  to  say  that  extreme  necessity  could  suggest. 
He  would  give  subsidies  unlimited — two  hundred  thousand 
marks  of  silver,  all  the  costs  of  the  expedition,  as  much  as 
it  pleased  them  to  require.  He  would  himself  accompany 
the  expedition,  he  would  furnish  two  thousand  men  at 
once,  and  for  all  his  life  maintain  five  hundred  knights  for 
the  defense  of  Jerusalem.  Last  of  all,  and  greatest,  he 
vowed — a  bait  for  Innocent  himself,  an  inducement  which 
must  have  stopped  the  words  of  remonstrance  on  the  lips 
of  the  priests  and  made  their  eyes  glow — to  renounce  for- 
ever the  Greek  heresy  and  bring  the  Eastern  Church  to  the 
supremacy  of  Kome  ! 

Whether  it  was  this  last  motive  or  simply  a  rush  of  sud- 
den enthusiasm,  such  as  was,  and  still  is,  apt  to  seize  upon 
a  multitude,  the  scruples  and  the  doubts  of  the  Crusaders 
melted  like  wax  before  the  arguments  of  the  young  prince, 
and  his  cause  seems  to  have  been  taken  up  by  general  con- 
sent. A  few  pilgrims  of  note  indeed  left  the  expedition 
and  attempted  to  find  another  way  to  the  Holy  Land,  but 
it  was  with  very  slightly  diminished  numbers  that  the  ex- 
pedition set  sail  in  April,  1203,  for  Constantinople.  Zara 
celebrated  their  departure  by  an  immediate  rising,  once 
more  asserting  its  independence,  and  necessitating  a  new 
expedition  sent  by  Eenier  Dandolo,  the  doge's  son  and 
deputy,  to  do  all  the  work  of  subjugation  over  again.  But 
that  was  an  occurrence  of  every  day. 

The  Crusaders  went  to  Corfu  first,  where  they  were  re- 
ceived with  acclamation,  the  islanders  offering  at  once 
their  homage  to  Alexius:  and  lingered  thereabouts  until 
the  eve  of  Pentecost,  when  they  set  sail  directly  for  Con- 
stantinople. Over  these  summer  seas  the  crowd  of  ships 
made  their  way  with  ensigns  waving  and  lances  glittering 
in  the  sun,  like  an  army  afloat,  as  indeed  they  were, 
making  the  air  resound  with  their  trumpets  and  warlike 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  71 

songs.  The  lovely  islands,  tlie  tranquil  waters,  the  golden 
sliores,  filled  these  northmen  with  enthusiasm — nothing 
so  beautiful,  so  luxuriant,  so  wealtliy  and  fair,  had  ever 
been  seen.  Where  was  the  coward  who  would  not  dare  to 
strike  a  blow  for  such  a  land?  The  islands,  as  they  passed, 
received  Alexius  with  joy,  all  was  festal  and  splendid  in 
the  advance.  It  was  the  24th  of  June,  the  full  glory  of 
midsummer,  when  the  fleet  passed  close  under  the  walls  of 
Constantinople.  We  need  not  enter  into  a  detailed  de- 
scription of  the  siege.  The  Venetians  would  seem  to  have 
carried  off  the  honors  of  the  day.  The  French  soldiers 
having  failed  in  their  first  assault  by  land,  the  Venetians, 
linking  a  number  of  galleys  together  by  ropes,  ran  them 
ashore,  and  seem  to  have  gained  possession,  almost  without 
pausing  to  draw  breath,  of  a  portion  of  the  city.  We  will 
quote  from  Gibbon,  whose  classical  splendor  of  style  is  so 
different  from  the  graphic  simplicity  of  our  chroniclers,  a 
description  of  this  extraordinary  attack.  He  is  not  a  his- 
torian generally  favorable  to  the  Venetians,  so  that  his 
testimony  may  be  taken  as  an  impartial  one. 

"  On  the  side  of  the  harbor  tlie  attack  was  more  successfully  con- 
ducted by  the  Venetians  ;  and  that  industrious  people  employed 
every  resource  that  was  known  and  practiced  before  the  invention  of 
gunpowder.  A  double  line,  three  bowshots  in  front,  was  formed  by 
the  galleys  and  ships  ;  and  the  swift  motion  of  the  former  was  sup- 
ported by  the  weight  and  loftiness  of  the  latter,  whose  decks  and 
poops  and  turrets  were  the  platforms  of  military  engines  that  dis- 
charged their  shot  over  the  heads  of  the  first  line.  The  soldiers  who 
leaped  from  the  galleys  on  shore  immediately  planted  and  ascended 
their  scaling  ladders,  while  the  large  ships,  advancing  more  slowly 
into  the  intervals  and  lowering  a  drawbridge,  opened  a  way  through 
the  air  from  their  masts  to  the  rampart.  In  the  midst  of  the  conflict 
the  doge's  venerable  and  conspicuous  form  stood  aloft  in  complete 
armor  on  the  prow  of  his  galley.  The  great  standard  of  St.  Mark 
was  displayed  before  him ;  his  threats,  promises,  and  exhortations 
urged  tlie  diligence  of  the  rowers ;  his  vessel  was  the  first  that 
struck  ;  and  Dandolo  was  the  first  warrior  on  shore.  The  nations 
admired  the  magnanimity  of  the  blind  old  man,  without  reflecting 
that  his  age  and  infirmities  diminished  the  price  of  life  and  enhanced 
the  value  of  immortal  glory.  On  a  sudden,  by  an  invisible  hand  (for 
the  standard-bearer  was  probably  slain),  the  banner  of  the  republic 
was  fixed  on  the  rampart,  twentv-five  towers  were  rapidly  occupied. 


72  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

and,  by  the  cruel  expedient  of  fire,  tlie  Greeks  were  driven  from  tlie 
adjacent  quarter." 


A  finer  battle-picture  than  this — of  the  galleys  fiercely 
driven  in  shore,  the  aged  prince  high  on  the  prow,  tlie 
Venetians  rushing  on  the  dizzy  bridge  from  the  rigging  to 
the  ramparts,  and  suddenly,  miraculously,  the  lion  of  St. 
Mark  unfolding  in  the  darkened  air  full  of  smoke  and  fire, 
and  bristling  showers  of  ai-rows — could  scarcely  be.  The 
chroniclers  of  Venice  say  nothing  of  it  at  all.  For  once  they 
fail  to  see  the  pictorial  effect,  the  force  of  the  dramatic 
situation.  Andrea  Dandolo's  moderate  description  of  his 
ancestor's  great  deed  is  all  we  have  to  replace  the  glowing 
narrative  in  which  the  Venetians  have  recorded  other  facts 
in  their  history.  'MVhile  they  (the  French)  were/Mie 
says,  ''  pressed  hard  on  account  of  their  small  numbers,  the 
doge  with  the  Venetians  burst  into  the  city,  and  he,  though 
old  and  infirm  of  vision,  yet  being  brave  and  eager  of 
spirit,  joined  himself  to  the  French  warriors,  and  all  of 
them  together,  fighting  with  great  bravery,  their  strength 
reviving  and  their  courage  rising,  forced  the  enemy  to  retire 
and  at  last  the  Greeks  yielding  on  every  side,  the  city  was 
taken.  ^' 

The  results  of  the  victory  were  decisive,  if  not  lasting. 
The  old  blind  emperor,  Isaac,  was  taken  from  his  dungeon 
— his  usurping  brother  having  fled — and  replaced  upon  his 
throne;  and  the  young  wanderer,  Alexius,  the  favorite  and 
plaything  of  the  crusading  nobles,  the  fanciullo,  as  the 
Venetians  persist  in  calling  him,  was  crowned  in  St.  Sophia 
as  his  father's  coadjutor  with  great  pomp  and  rejoicing. 
But  this  moment  of  glory  was  shortlived.  As  soon  as  the 
work  was  done,  when  there  began  to  he  talk  of  the  payment, 
and  of  all  the  wonderful  things  which  had  been  promised, 
these  brilliant  skies  were  clouded  over.  It  appeared  that 
Alexius  had  neither  authority  to  make  such  promises,  nor 
any  power  of  fulfilling  them.  Not  even  the  money  could 
be  paid  without  provoking  new  rebellions  ;  and  as  for  plac- 
ing the  Greek  Church  under  the  power  of  Rome,  that  was 
more  than  any  emperor  could  do.     Nor  was  this  all ;  for  it 


DOORWAY,  SAN  MARCO. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  73 

very  soon  appeared  that  the  throne  set  up  by  foreign  arms 
was  anything  but  secure.  The  Crusaders,  who  had  in- 
tended to  push  on  at  once  to  their  destination,  the  Holy 
Land,  were  again  arrested,  partly  by  a  desire  to  secure  the 
recompense  promised  for  their  exertions,  partly  because 
the  young  prince,  whom  his  own  countrymen  disliked  for 
his  close  alliance  with  the  strangers,  implored  them  to  re- 
main till  his  throne  should  be  more  firmly  established. 
But  that  throne  was  not  worth  a  year's  purchase  to  its  young 
and  unfortunate  tenant.  Notwithstanding  the  great  camp 
of  the  invaders  at  Galata,  and  the  Venetian  galleys  in  the 
Bosphorous,  another  sudden  revolution  undid  everything 
that  had  been  done.  The  first  assault  had  been  made  in 
June,  1203.  So  early  as  March  of  the  next  year,  the  barons 
and  the  doge  were  taking  grim  counsel  together  as  to  what 
was  to  be  done  with  the  spoil — such  spoil  as  was  not  to  be 
found  in  any  town  in  Europe — when  they  should  have 
seized  the  city,  in  which  young  Alexius  lay  murdered,  and 
his  old  father  dead  of  misery  and  grief. 

The  second  siege  was  longer  and  more  difficult  than  the 
first,  for  the  new  emperor,  Marzoufle,  he  of  the  shaggy  eye- 
brows, was  bolder  and  more  determined  than  the  former 
usurper.  But  at  last  the  unhappy  city  was  taken,  and 
sacked  with  every  circumstance  of  horror  that  belongs  to 
suchan  event.  The  chivalrous  Crusadai*s,  the  brave  Vene 
tians,  the  best  men  of  their  age,  either  did  not  think  it 
necessary,  or  were  unable  to  restrain  tlie  lowest  instincts  of 
an  excited  army.  And  what  was  terrible  everywhere  was 
worse  in  Constantinople,  the  richest  of  all  existing  cities, 
full  of  everything  that  was  most  exquisite  in  art  and  able  in 
invention.  *'The  Venetians  only,  who  were  of  gentler 
soul,"  says  Komanin,  ''  took  thought  for  the  preser- 
vation of  those  marvelous  works  of  human  genius, 
trajisporting  them  afterward  to  Venice,  as  they  did  the 
four  famous  horses  which  now  stand  on  the  fa9ade  of  the 
great  Basilica,  along  with  many  columns,  jewels  and  pre- 
cious stones,  with  which  they  decorated  the  Pala  d'oro  and 
the  treasury  of  San  Marco."  This  proof  of  gentler  soul 
was  equa^^y  demonstrated  by  Napoleon  when  he  carried  off 


74  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

those  same  bronze  horses  to  Paris  in  the  beginning  of  the 
century,  but  it  was  not  appreciated  either  by  Italy  or  the 
world.  Altogetlier  this  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  Vene- 
tian armaments,  as  in  that  of  the  Crusaders  and  western 
Christendom  in  general,  is  a  terrible  and  painful  one. 
The  pilgrims  had  got  into  a  false  and  miserable  vortex,  from 
which  they  could  not  clear  their  feet.  All  that  followed  is 
like  some  feverish  and  horrible  dream,  through  which  the 
wild  attempts  to  bring  some  kind  of  order,  and  to  establish 
a  new  rule,  and  to  convince  themselves  that  they  were  doing 
right  and  not  wrong,  make  the  ruinous  complications  only 
more  apparent.  During  the  whole  period  of  their  lingering, 
of  their  besieging,  of  their  elections  of  Latin  emperors  and 
archbishops— futile  and  shortlived  attempts  to  make  some- 
thing of  their  conquest — letters  from  Pope  Innocent  were 
raining  upon  them,  full  of  indignant  remonstrances,  ap- 
peals, and  reproaches;  and  little  groups  of  knights  were 
wandering  off  toward  their  proper  destination  sick  at 
heart,  while  the  rest  appointed  themselves  lords  and  suzer- 
ains, marshals  and  constables  of  a  country  which  they 
neither  understood  nor  could  rule. 

In  less  than  a  year  there  followed  the  disastrous  de- 
feat of  Adrianople,  in  which  the  ranks  of  the  Crusaders 
were  broken,  and  the  unfortunate  newly-elected  emperor, 
Baldwin,  disappeared,  and  was  heard  of  no  more.  The  old 
doge,  Erlrico  Dandolo,  died  shortly  after,  having  both  in 
success  and  defeat  performed  prodigies  of  valor,  which  his 
great  age  (ninety-seven,  according  to  the  chroniclers)  makes 
almost  incredible,  and  keeping  to  the  last  a  keen  eye  upon 
the  interests  of  Venice,  which  alone  were  forwarded  by  all 
that  had  happened.  But  he  never  saw  Venice  again.  He 
died  in  June,  1205 — two  years  after  the  first  attack  upon 
Constantinople,  three  years  after  his  departure  from  Ven- 
ice— and  was  buried  in  St.  KSophia.  Notwithstanding  the 
royal  honors  that  we  are  told  attended  his  funeral,  one 
cannot  but  feel  that  the  dim  eyes  of  the  old  warrior  must 
have  turned  with  longing  to  the  rest  that  ought  to  have 
been  his  in  his  own  San  Marco,  and  that  there  must  have 
echoed  in  his  aged   heart   semething  of  a  pang   that  went 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  75 

through  that  of  a  later  pilgrim  whose  last  fear  it  was  that 
he  should  lay  his  bones  far  from  the  Tweed. 

We  read  with  a  keen  perception  of  the  rapidity  with 
which  comedy  dogs  the  steps  of  tragedy  everywhere,  that 
one  Marino  Zeno,  hastily  appointed  after  Dandolo  as  the 
head  of  the  Venetians,  assumed  at  once  as  marks  of  his 
dignity  **a  rose-colored  silk  stocking  on  his  right  foot 
and  a  white  silk  stocking  on  his  left,  along  with  the  im- 
perial boots  and  purse."  This  was  one  outcome  of  all  the 
blood  and  misery,  the  dethronements,  the  sack,  the  gen- 
eral ruin.  The  doges  of  Venice  added  another  to  their 
long  list  of  titles — they  were  now  lords  of  Croatia,  Dal- 
matia,  and  of  the  fourth  part  and  the  half  of  the  Roman 
(or  Romanian)  empire.  Domimia  quartm  partis  cum  di- 
midio  tolius  Iniperi  Romaniw.  And  all  the  isles,  those 
dangerous,  and  vexatious  little  communities  that  had  been 
wont  to  harbor  pirates  and  interrupt  traders,  fell  really 
or  nominally  into  the  hands  of  Venice.  They  were  a 
troublesome  possession,  constantly  in  rebellion,  difficult 
to  secure,  still  more  difficult  to  keep,  as  the  Venetian  con- 
quests in  Dalmatia  had  already  proved  :  but  they  were  no 
less  splendid  possessions.  Candia  alone  was  a  jewel  for 
any  emperor.  The  republic  could  not  hold  these  islands, 
putting  garrisons  into  them  at  her  own  expense  and  risk. 
She  took  the  wiser  way  of  granting  them  to  colonists  on  a 
feudal  tenure,  so  that  any  noble  Venetian  who  had  the 
courage  and  the  means  might  set  himself  up  with  a  little 
sea-borne  principality  in  due  subjection  to  his  native  state, 
but  with  tlie  privilege  of  hunting  out  its  pirates  and  sub- 
duing its  rebellions  for  himself.  '^To  divide,  "  says  Sabel- 
lico,  "the  public  forces  of  Venice  into  so  many  parts  would 
have  been  very  unsafe.  The  best  thing,  therefore,  seemed 
that  those  who  were  rich  should  fit  out,  according  to  their 
capabilities,  one  or  more  galleys,  and  other  ships  of  the 
kind  required.  And  there  being  no  doubt  that  many 
would  find  it  to  their  private  advantage  to  do  this,  it  followed 
that  the  republic  in  time  of  need  would  secure  the  aid  of 
these  armed  vessels,  and  that  each  place  acquired  could 
be  defended  by  them  with   the  aid   of   the  state — a  thing 


%  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

wliich  by  itself  the  republic  could  not  have  accomplished 
except  with  much  expense  and  trouble.  It  was  therefore 
ordained  that  they  (who  undertook  this),  with  their  wives 
and  children  and  all  they  possessed,  might  settle  in  these 
islands,  and  that  as  colonists  sent  by  the  city  their  safety 
would  be  under  the  care  and  guarantee  of  tlie  republic.  " 
Many  private  persons,  he  adds,  armed  for  this  under- 
taking. 

The  rambling  chronicle  of  Sanudo  gives  us  here  a  roman- 
tic story  of  the  conquest  of  Candia  by  his  own  ancestor, 
Marco  Sanudo,  who,  according  to  this  narrative,  having 
swept  from  the  seas  a  certain  corsair  called  Arrigo  or  En- 
rico of  Malta,  became  master  of  the  island.  The  inhabi- 
tants, as  a  matter  of  course,  resisted  and  rebelled,  but  not 
in  the  usual  way.  ''  Accept  the  kingdom  as  our  sovereign,^^ 
their  envoys  said,  '^or  in  three  hours  you  must  leave  Can- 
dia." This  flattering  but  embarrassing  alternative  con- 
founded the  Venetian  leader.  But  he  accepted  the  honor 
thrust  upon  him,  writing  at  once,  however,  to  the  doge,  tell- 
ing the  choice  that  had  been  given  him  and  how  he  had 
accepted  it  from  necessity  and  devotion  to  the  republic,  in 
whose  name  he  meant  to  hold  the  island.  The  Venetians 
at  once  sent  twelve  ships  of  war,  on  pretense  of  congratu- 
lating him,  whom  he  received  with  a  royal  welcome;  then 
handing  over  his  government  to  the  commander  of  the 
squadron,  took  to  his  ships  and  left  the  dangerous  glory  of 
the  insecure  throne  behind  him.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  docu- 
ments do  not  bear  out  this  pleasant  story.  But  if  a  man's 
own  descendant  does  not  know  the  rights  of  his  ancestor's 
actions,  who  should?  Sanudo  goes  onto  relate  how,  as  a 
reward  for  this  magnanimous  renunciation,  his  forefather 
was  allowed  the  command  of  the  fleet  for  a  year,  and  with 
this  scoured  the  sea  and  secured  island  after  island,  placing 
his  own  kinsmen  in  possession;  but  at  last,  being  outnum- 
bered, was  taken  prisoner  in  a  naval  engagement  by  the 
admirals  of  the  emperor  of  Constantinople  (which  emperor 
is  not  specified).  ^'But,'^  says  his  descendant,  *'  when  the 
said  emperor  saw  his  valorosity  and  beauty,  he  set  him  free, 
and  gave  him  one  of  his  sisters   in   marriage,  from  which 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  77 

lady  are  descended  almost  all  the  members  of  the  Ca' 
Sanudo/'  The  historian  allows  with  dignified  candor 
that  this  story  is  not  mentioned  by  Marc  Antonio  Sabellico, 
but  it  is  to  be  found,  he  says,  in  the  other  chroniclei's.  AVe 
regret  to  add  that  the  austere  Romanin  gives  a  quite  dif- 
ferent account  of  the  exploits  of  Marco  Saiiudo,  the  lord  of 
Naxos.  It  would  have  been  pleasant  to  have  associated  so 
magnanimous  a  seaman  with  the  name  of  the  chronicler  of 
the  crusades,  and  the  indefatigable  diarist  to  whom  later 
Venetian  history  is  so  deeply  indebted. 

These  splendid  conquests  brought  enormous  increase  of 
wealth,  of  trade,  of  care,  and  endless  occupation  to  the 
republic.  Gained  and  lost,  and  regained  and  lost  again, 
fairly  fought  for,  strenuously  held,  a  source  perhaps  at  all 
times  of  more  weakness  than  strength,  they  had  all  faded 
out  of  the  tiara  of  the  republic  long  before  she  was  herself 
discrowned.  But  there  still  remains  in  Venice  one  striking 
evidence  of  the  splendid,  disastrous  expedition,  the  unex- 
ampled conquests  and  victories,  yet  dismal  end,  of  what  is 
called  the  Fourth  Crusade.  And  that  is  the  four  great 
bronze  horses,  curious,  inappropriate,  bizarre  ornaments 
that  stand  above  the  doorways  of  San  Marco.  This  was  the 
blind  doge's  lasting  piece  of  spoil. 


The  four  doges  of  the  Dandolo  family  who  appear  at  in- 
tervals in  the  list  of  princes  of  the  republic  are  too  far 
apart  to  be  followed  here.  Francesco  Dandolo,  1328-1339, 
the  third  of  the  name,  was  called  Ca7ie,  according  to  tradi- 
tion, because  when  ambassador  to  Pope  Clement  V.,  this 
noble  Venetian,  for  the  love  of  Venice,  humbled  himself, 
and  with  a  chain  round  his  neck  and  on  his  knees,  ap- 
proached the  pontiff,  imploring  that  the  interdict  might  be 
raised,  and  Venice  delivered  from  the  pains  of  excommuni- 
cation. If  this  had  been  to  show  that  men  of  his  race 
thought  nothing  too  much  for  the  service  of  their  city, 
whether  it  were  pride  or  humility,  defiance  or  submission, 
the  circle  which  included  blind  Enrico  and  Francesco   the 


78 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


doge,  could  scarcely  be  more  complete.  The  last  of  the 
Dandolo  doge,  was  Andrea,  1342-1354,  a  man  of  letters  as 
well  as  of  practical  genius,  and  the  historian  of  his  prede- 
cessors and  of  the  city;  whom  at  a  later  period  aud.in  gen- 
tler company  we  shall  find  again. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  79 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PIETRO   GRADENIGO  :   CHANGE   OF  THE   CONSTITUTIOlfl". 

We  HAVE  endeavored  up  to  this  time  to  trace  the  develop- 
ment of  the  Venetian  government  and  territory,  not  con- 
tinuously, but  from  point  to  point  according  to  the  great 
conquests  which  increased  the  latter,  and  the  growth  of 
system  and  political  order  in  the  former,  which  became 
necessary  as  the  community  increased  and  the  primitive 
rule  was  outgrown.  But  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury a  great  revolution  took  place  in  the  republic  wliich  had 
risen  to  such  prosperity,  and  had  extended  its  enterprises 
to  every  quarter  of  the  known  world.  It  was  under  the 
Doge  Gradenigo,  a  new  type  among  the  rulers  of  the  state, 
neither  a  soldier  nor  a  conqueror,  but  a  politician,  that  this 
change  took  place — a  change  antagonistic  to  the  entire 
sentiment  of  the  early  Venetian  institutions,  but  embody- 
ing all  with  which  the  world  is  familiar  in  the  later  forms 
of  that  great  oligarchy,  the  proudest  type  of  republic 
known  to  history.  The  election  of  Pietro  Gradenigo  was 
not  a  popular  one.  It  is  evident  that  a  new  feeling  of 
class  antagonism  had  been  gathering  during  the  last  reign, 
that  of  Giovanni  Dandolo;  and  that  both  sides  were  on  the 
alert  to  seize  an  advantage.  Whether  the  proposals  for 
the  limitation  of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore  which  were  already 
in  the  air,  and  the  sensation  of  an  approaching  attack  upon 
their  rights,  were  sufficiently  clear  to  the  populace  to  stimu- 
late them  to  an  attempt  to  repair  the  ancient  privilege  of 
electing  the  doge  by  acclamation:  or  whether  it  was  this  at- 
tempt which  drove  the  other  party  to  more  determined 
action,  it  is  Impossible  to  judge.  But  at  the  death  of 
Gradenigo's  predecessor  there  was  a  rush  of  the  people   to 


80  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  Piazza  with  '^  Vocie  parole  pungentissime''  in  a  wild 
and  sudden  endeavor  to  push  off  the  yoke  of  the  regular 
(and  most  elaborate)  laws  which  had  now  been  in  operation 
for  many  generations  and  to  reclaim  their  ancient  custom. 
The  crowd  coming  together  from  all  quarters  of  the  city 
proclaimed  the  name  of  Jacopo  Tiopolo,  the  son  or  nephew 
of  a  former  doge  and  a  man  of  great  popularity,  while  still 
the  solemn  officers  of  state  were  bucy  in  arranging  the  obse- 
quies of  the  dead  doge  and  preparing  the  multitudinous 
ballot-boxes  for  the  election  of  his  successor.  Had  Tiepolo 
been  a  less  excellent  citizen,  Komanin  says,  civil  war  would 
almost  certainly  have  been  the  issue,  but  he  was  ''  a  man 
of  prudence  and  singular  goodness,"  a  liuomo  da  bene,  who 
**  despising  the  madness  of  the  crowd"  and  to  avoid  the 
discord  which  must  have  followed,  left  the  town  secretly, 
in  the  midst  of  the  tumult,  and  took  refuge  in  his  villa  on 
the  Brenta,  the  favorite  retreat  of  Venetian  nobles.  The 
people  were  apparently  not  ripe  for  anything  greater  than 
this  sudden  and  easily  baffled  effort,  and  when  their  favor- 
ite stole  away,  permitted  the  usual  wire-pullers,  the  class 
which  had  so  long  originated  and  regulated  everything,  to 
proceed  to  the  new  electior  in  the  usual  way. 

No  more  elaborate  machinery  than  that  employed  in  this 
solemn  transaction  could  be  imagined.  The  almost  ludi- 
crous multiplicity  of  its  appeals  to  Providence  or  fate,  de- 
veloped and  increasing  from  age  to  age,  the  continually 
repeated  drawing  of  lots,  and  double  and  triple  elections, 
seem  to  evidence  the  most  jealous  determination  to  secure 
impartiality  and  unbiased  judgment.  The  order  of  the 
proceedings  is  recorded  at  length  by  Martin  da  Canale  in 
his  chronicle,  which  is  of  undoubted  authority,  and  re- 
peated by  later  writers.  The  six  counselors  (augmented  from 
the  two  of  the  early  reigns)  of  the  doge,  according  to  this 
historian,  called  a  meeting  of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore,  hav- 
ing first  provided  a  number  of  balls  of  wax,  the  same  num- 
ber as  the  members  of  the  council,  in  thirty  of  which  was 
inclosed  a  little  label  of  parchment  inscribed  with  the  word 
Lector.  The  thirty  who  drew  these  balls  were  separated 
from  the  assembly  in  another  chamber  of  the  palace,  first 


THE  MAKERS  OS  VENICE.  81 

being  made  to  swear  to  perform  their  office  justly  and  im- 
partially. There  were  then  produced  thirty  more  waxen 
balls,  in  nine  of  which  was  the  same  inscription.  The 
chosen,  who  were  thus  reduced  to  nine,  the  number  of 
completeness,  varied  the  process  by  electing  forty  citizens, 
whether  members  or  not  of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore  being 
left  to  their  discretion.  Each  of  these,  however,  required 
to  secure  the  suffrages  of  seven  electors.  The  reader  will 
hope  that  by  this  time  at  last  he  has  come  to  the  electors 
of  the  doge  ;  but  not  so.  The  forty  thus  chosen  were  sent 
for  from  their  houses  by  the  six  original  counselors  who 
had  the  management  of  the  election  ;  and  forty  waxen  pel- 
lets with  the  mystic  word  Lector,  this  time  inclosed  in 
twelve  of  them,  were  again  provided.  These  were  put 
into  a  hat,  and,  apparently  for  the  first  time,  a  child  of 
eleven  was  called  in  to  act  as  the  instrument  of  fate.  An- 
other writer  describes  how  one  of  the  permanent  counsel- 
ors going  out  at  this  point,  probably  in  the  interval  while 
the  forty  new  electors  were  being  sent  for  from  their  houses, 
lieard  mass  in  San  Marco,  and  taking  hold  of  the  first  boy 
he  met  on  coming  out,  led  him  into  the  palace  to  draw  the 
balls.  The  twelve  thus  drawn  were  once  more  sworn,  and 
elected  twenty-five,  each  of  whom  required  eight  votes  to 
make  his  election  valid.  Tiie  twenty-five  were  reduced 
once  more  by  the  operation  of  the  ballot,  to  nine,  who  were 
taken  into  another  room  and  again  sworn,  after  which  they 
elected  forty-five,  reduced  by  ballot  to  eleven,  who  finally 
elected  forty-one,  who  at  the  end  of  all  things  elected  the 
doge.  The  childish  elaboration  of  this  mode  of  procedure 
is  scarcely  more  strange  than  the  absolute  absence  of  nov- 
elty in  the  result  produced.  No  plebeian  tribune  ever  stole 
into  power  by  these  means,  no  new  man  mounted  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  people,  or  of  some  theorist  or  partisan, ever 
surprised  the  reigning  families  with  a  new  name.  The 
elections  ran  in  the  established  lines  without  a  break  or 
misadventure.  If  any  popular  interference  disturbed  the 
serenity  and  self-importance  of  the  endless  series  of  elec- 
tors it  was  only  to  turn  the  current  in  the  direction  of  one 
powerful  race  instead  of  another.     Even  the  populace  in 


82  THE  MAKimS  OF  VENICE. 

the  Piazza  proclaimed  no  Lanifizio  or  Tintorio,  wool- 
worker  or  dyer,  but  a  Tiepolo,  when  they  attempted  to 
take  the  elections  into  their  own  hands.  Neither  from 
without  nor  within  was  there  a  suggestion  of  any  new 
name. 

The  doge  elected  on  this  occasion  was  Pietro,  called  Per- 
azzo  (a  corruption  of  the  name  not  given  in  a  compli- 
mentary sense)  Gradenigo,  who  was  at  the  time  governor 
of^Oapo  d^Istria,  an  ambitious  man  of  strongly  aristocratic 
views  and  no  favorite  with  the  people.  It  can  scarcely  be 
supposed  that  he  was  individually  responsible  for  the 
change  worked  by  his  agency  in  the  constitution  of  the 
Consiglio  Maggiore.  It  was  a  period  of  constitutional 
development  when  new  officers,  new  agencies,  an  entire 
civil  service  was  coming  into  being,  and  the  great  council 
had  not  only  all  the  affairs  of  the  state  passing  through  its 
hands,  but  a  large  amount  of  patronage  increasing  every 
day.  Although,  as  has  been  pointed  out  repeatedly,  the 
sovereignty  of  Venice,  under  whatever  system  carried  on, 
had  always  been  in  the  hands  of  a  certain  number  of  fami- 
lies, who  kept  their  place  with  almost  dynastic  regularity, 
undisturbed  by  any  intruders  from  below — the  system  of 
the  Consiglio  Maggiore  was  still  professedly  a  representative 
system  of  the  widest  kind  ;  and  it  would  seem  at  the  first 
glance  as  if  every  honest  man,  all  who  were  da  bene  and  re- 
spected by  their  fellows,  must  one  time  or  other  have  been 
secure  of  gaining  admission  to  that  popular  parliament.  Ro- 
manin,  strongly  partisan,  like  all  Venetians,  of  the  institu- 
tion under  which  Venice  flourished,  takes  pains  to  point  out 
here  and  there  one  or  two  exceptional  names  which  show  that 
at  long  intervals  such  elections  did  happen  :  but  they  were 
very  rare,  and  the  exceptional  persons  thus  elevated  never 
seem  to  have  made  themselves  notable.  However,  as  the 
city  grew  and  developed,  it  is  evident  that  the  families  who 
had  always  ruled  over  her  began  to  feel  that  the  danger  of 
having  her  courts  invaded  by  the  democracy  was  becoming 
a  real  one.  The  mode  of  electing  the  great  council  was 
very  informal  and  variable,  and  it  had  recently  fallen  more 
and  more  into  the  hands  of  the  intriguers  of  the  Broglio, 


TUE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  83 

the  lobbyists  as  tlie  Amerieaus  would  say  :  which  doubtles 
gave  a  pretext  for  tlie  radical  change  which  was  to  alter  its 
character  altogetlier.  Sometimes  its  members  were  cliosen 
by  delegates  from  each  sestiereovdhivxai  of  the  city,  some- 
times, which  was  the  original  idea,  by  four  individuals, 
*'  two  from  this  side  of  the  canal,  two  from  that  ',"  some- 
times they  were  elected  for  six  months,  sometimes  for  a 
year.  The  whole  system  was  uncertain  and  wanted  regu- 
lation. But  this  curious  combination  of  chances  which 
was  something  like  putting  into  a  lottery  for  their  rulers, 
pleased  the  imagination  of  the  people  in  their  primitive 
state,  and  perhaps  flattered  the  minds  of  the  masses  with  a 
continual  possibility  that  upon  some  of  their  own  order 
the  happy  lot  might  fall.  It  had  been  proposed  in  the 
previous  reign  not  only  that  these  irregularities  should  be 
remedied,  which  was  highly  expedient,  but  also  that  a  cer- 
tain hereditary  principle  should  be  adopted,  which  was,  in 
theory,  a  new  thing  and  strange  to  the  constitution  of 
Venice  :  the  suggestion  being  that  those  whose  fathers  had 
sat  in  the  council  should  have  a  right  to  election,  though 
without  altogether  excluding  others  whom  the  doge  or  his 
counselors  should  consider  worthy  of  being  added  to  it. 

When  Gradenigo  came  to  power  ho  was  probably,  like  a 
new  prime  minister,  pledged  to  carry  out  this  policy  :  and 
within  a  few  years  of  his  accession  tiu;  experiment  was 
tried,  but  very  cautiously,  in  a  tentative  way.  Venice  wasv 
profoundly  occupied  at  the  time  with  one  of  her  great  wars 
with  her  rival  Genoa,  a  war  in  which  she  had  much  the 
worst,  though  certain  victories  from  time  to  time  in  east- 
ern waters  encouraged  her  to  pursue  the  struggle  ;  and  it 
was  under  cover  of  this  conflict  which  engaged  men's 
thoughts  that  the  new  experiment  was  made.  Instead  of 
the  ordinary  periodical  election  of  the  council,  nominally 
open  to  all,  the  four  chosen  electors  to  whom  this  duty 
ordinarily  fell,  nominated  only — in  the  first  place — such 
members  of  the  existing  Consiglio  Maggiore  as  had  in  their 
own  persons  or  in  those  of  their  fathers  sat  in  the  council 
during  the  last  four  years,  who  were  then  re-elected  by 
ballot,  taken  for  each   man   individually  by  the  Forty,  ^ 


84 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


recently  constituted  body;  to  whom  a  further  number  of 
names  from  outside  were  then  proposed,  and  voted  for  in 
the  same  way.  Thus  the  majority  of  members  elected  was 
not  only  confined  to  those  possessing  a  hereditary  claim, 
but  the  election  was  taken  out  of  the  hands  of  the  tradi- 
tional electors,  and  transferred  to  those  of  the  existing 
rulers  of  the  city.  The  new  method  was  first  tried  for  a 
year,  and  then  established  as  the  fundamental  law  of  the 
republic,  with  the  further  exclusion  of  the  one  popular 
and  traditional  element,  the  nominal  four  electors,  whose 
work  was  now  transferred  to  the  officials  of  the  state.    The 


ARMS  OP  GRADENIGO. 


change  thus  carried  out  was  great  in  principle,  though  per- 
haps not  much  different  in  practice  from  that  which  had 
become  the  use  and  wont  of  the  city.  *^  The  citizens," 
says  Romanin,  ^Mvere  thus  divided  into  three  classes — 1st, 
Those  who  neither  in  their  own  persons  nor  through  their 
ancestors  had  ever  formed  part  of  the  great  council ;  2nd, 
Those  whose  progenitors  had  been  members  of  it ;  3rd, 
Those  who  were  themselves  members  of  the  council,  both 
they  and  their  fathers.  The  first  were  called  New  men, 
and  were  never  admitted  save  by  special  grace;  the  second 
class  were  included  from  time  to  time  ;  finally,  the  third 
were  elected  by  full  right." 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  -      85 

This  was  the  law  which  under  the  name  of  the  Serrata 
del  Consiglio  Maggiore  caused  two  rebellions  in  Venice  and 
confirmed  forever  beyond  dispute  her  oligarchical  govern- 
ment. Her  parliament,  so  fondly  supposed  to  be  that  of 
tiie  people,  was  no  more  closed  to  the  New  men  than  is 
our  House  of  Lords.  Now  and  then  an  exceptional  indi- 
vidual might  be  nominated,  and  by  means  of  great  services, 
wealth,  or  other  superior  qualities,  obtain  admission.  It 
wjis  indeed  the  privilege  and  reward  henceforward  zealously 
striven  for  by  the  plebeian  class,  and  unfortunately  more 
often  bestowed  in  recompense  for  the  betrayal  of  political 
secrets,  and  especially  of  popular  conspiracies,  than  for 
better  reasons.  But  tlie  right  was  with  those  whose  fathers 
had  held  the  position  before  them,  whose  rank  was  already 
secure  and  ascertained,  the  nobles  and  patrician  classes. 
The  hereditary  legislator  thus  arose  in  the  bosom  of  the 
state  which  considered  itself  the  most  free  in  Christendom, 
in  his  most  marked  and  distinct  form.  Komanin  tells  us 
that  the  famous  Libro  d'Oro,  the  book  of  nobility,  was 
formed  in  order  to  keep  clear  the  descent  and  legitimacy  of 
all  claimants,  bastards,  and  even  the  sons  of  a  wife  not 
noble,  being  rigorously  excluded.  The  law  itself  was 
strengthened  by  successive  additions  so  as  to  confine  the 
electors  exclusively  to  the  patrician  class. 

The  war  with  Genoa  was  still  filling  all  minds  when  this 
silent  revolution  was  accomplished.  How  could  Venice 
give  her  attention  to  what  was  going  on  in  the  gilded 
chambers  of  the  Palazzo,  when  day  by  day  the  city  was 
convulsed  by  bad  news  or  deluded  by  faint  gleams  of  better 
hope  ?  Once  and  again  the  Venetian  fleets  were  defeated, 
and  mournful  galleys  came  drifting  up,  six  or  seven  out  of 
a  hundred,  to  tell  the  tale  of  destruction  and  humiliation  : 
and  ever  with  renewed  efforts,  in  a  rage  of  despairing 
energy,  the  workmen  toiling  in  the  arsenal,  the  boatmen 
giving  up  their  tranquil  traffic  upon  the  lagoons  to  man 
the  new-appointed  ships,  and  every  family  great  and  small, 
offering  its  dearest  to  sustain  the  honor  of  the  republic, 
the  energies  of  the  city  were  strained  to  the  utmost.  In 
the  autumn  of  1298,  just  when  the  Serrata  had  been  con- 


86  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

firmed  in  the  statute-book,  the  great  fleet,  commanded  by 
Admiral  Andrea  Dandolo,  sailed  from  the  port,  with  all 
the  aspect  of  a  squadron  invincible,  to  punish  the  Genoese 
and  end  the  war.  In  one  of  the  ships  was  a  certain  Marco 
Polo,  from  his  home  near  San  Giovanni  Chrisostomo, 
Marco  of  the  millions,  a  great  traveling  merchant,  whose 
stories  had  been  as  fables  in  his  countrymen's  ears.  This 
great  expedition  did  indeed  for  the  time  and  the  war ;  but 
not  by  victory.  It  was  cruelly  defeated  on  the  Dalmatian 
coasts  after  a  stubborn  and  bloody  struggle.  The  admiral 
Andrea  dashed  his  head  against  his  mast  and  died  rather  than 
be  taken  to  Genoa  in  chains  ;  while  the  humbler  sailor  Marco 
Polo  with  crowds  of  his  countrymen  was  carried  off  to 
prison  there,  to  his  advantage  and  ours,  as  it  turned  out. 
But  Venice  was  plunged  into  mourning  and  woe,  her  re- 
sources exhausted,  her  captains  lost.  Genoa,  who  had 
bought  the  victory  dear,  was  in  little  less  unhappy  con- 
dition ;  and  in  the  following  year  the  rival  republics  were 
glad  to  make  peace  under  every  pledge  of  mutual  forbear- 
ance and  friendship  for  as  long  as  it  could  last.  It  was  only 
after  this  conclusion  of  the  more  exciting  interests  abroad 
that  the  Venetians  at  home,  recovering  tranquillity,  began 
to  look  within  and  see  in  the  meantime  what  the  unpopu- 
lar doge  and  his  myrmidons,  while  nobody  had  been  look- 
ing, had  been  engaged  about. 

It  is  difficult  to  tell  what  the  mass  of  the  people  thought 
of  the  new  position  of  affairs  :  for  all  the  chroniclers  are 
on  the  winning  side,  and  even  the  careful  Romanin  has 
little  sympathy  with  the  revolutionaries.  The  Venetian 
populace  had  long  been  pleasantly  deceived  as  to  their  own 
power.  They  had  been  asked  to  approve  what  their  mas- 
ters had  decided  upon  and  made  to  believe  it  was  their  own 
doing.  They  had  given  a  picturesque  and  impressive  back- 
ground as  of  a  unanimous  people  to  the  decisions  of  the 
doge  and  his  counselors,  the  sight  of  their  immense  as- 
sembly making  the  noble  French  envoys  weep  like  women. 
But  whether  they  had  begun  to  see  through  those  fine 
pretenses  of  consulting  them,  and  to  perceive  how  little 
they  had  really  to  do  with  it  all,  no  one  tells  us.     Their 


THE  MAKEllS  OF  VENICE.  87 

attempt  to  elect  their  own  doge  witlioiit  waiting  for  the 
authorities,  looks  as  if  they  had  become  suspicious  of  their 
masters.  And  at  the  same  time  the  arbitrary  closing  of 
the  avenues  of  power,  to  all  men  whose  fortune  was  not 
made  or  their  position  secure,  and  the  establishment  in  the 
council  of  that  hereditary  principle  so  strenuously  opposed 
in  the  election  of  the  doges,  were  sufficiently  distinct 
changes  to  catch  the  popular  eye  and  disturb  the  imagina- 
tion. Accordingly  when  the  smoke  of  war  cleared  olf  and 
the  people  came  to  consider  internal  politics,  discontent  and 
excitement  aiose.  This  found  vent  in  a  sudden  and  evi- 
dently natural  outburst  of  popular  feeling.  The  leader  of 
the  malcontents  was  *'a certain  Marino  whose  surname  was 
Bocconio, '^  says  Sabellico,  "a  man  who  was  not  noble,  nor 
of  the  baser  sort,  but  of  moderate  fortune,  bold  and  ready 
for  any  evil,"  precisely  of  that  class  of  new  men  to  whom 
political  privileges  are  most  dear,  one  on  the  verge  of  a 
higher  position,  and  doubtless  hoping  to  push  his  way  into 
parliament  and  secure  for  his  sons  an  entry  into  the  class 
of  patricians.  **He  was  much  followed  for  his  wealth," 
says  another  writer.  Sanudo  gives  an  account  of  Bocconio's 
(or  Bocco's)  rebellion,  which  the  too  well  informed  Ro- 
manin  summarily  dismisses  as  a  fable,  but  which  as  an 
expression  of  popular  feeling,  and  the  aspect  which  the 
new  state  of  affairs  bore  to  the  masses,  has  a  certain  value. 
The  matter-of-fact  legend  of  shutting  out  and  casting  forth 
embodies  in  the  most  forcible  way  the  sense  of  an  exclu- 
sion which  was  more  complete  than  could  be  effected  by 
the  closing  of  any  palace  doors.  Bocconio  and  his  friends, 
according  to  Sanudo,  indignant  and  enraged  to  be  shut  out 
from  the  council,  crowded  into  the  Piazza  with  many  fol- 
lowers, at  the  time  when  they  supposed  the  elections  to  be 
going  on,  and  found  the  gates  closed  and  the  Gentilhuomiui 
assembled  within. 

"  Then  beating  at  the  door  tbey  called  out  that  they  desired  to  form 
part  of  the  Council,  and  would  not  be  excluded  :  upon  which  the  doge 
sent  messengers  to  tell  them  that  the  Council  was  not  engaged  upon 
the  election,  but  was  discussing  other  business.  As  they  continued, 
however,  to  insist  upon  coming  in,  ihe  doge  seeing  that  he  made  no 


88  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

advance,  but  that  the  tumult  kept  increasing  in  the  piazza,  deliber- 
ated with  the  council  how  to  entrap  these  seditions  persons?  to  call 
forth  against  them  ultimum  de  potentia,  the  severest  penalty  of  the 
law.  Accordingly  he  sent  to  tell  them  that  they  should  be  called  in 
separately  in  parties  of  five,  and  that  those  who  succeeded  in  the  bal- 
lot should  remain  as  members  of  the  Council,  on  condition  that  those 
who  failed  should  disperse  and  go  away.  The  first  called  were  Mari- 
no Bocco,  Jacopo  Boldo,  and  three  others.  The  doors  were  then  closed 
and  a  good  guard  set,  after  which  the  five  were  stripped  and  thrown 
into  a  pit,  the  Trabucco  della Torsella,  and  so  killed;  and  the  others 
being  called  in,  in  succession,  and  treated  in  the  same  way,  the  chief 
men  and  ringleaders  were  thus  disposed  of  to  the  number  of  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  or  sixty  men.  The  crowd  remaining  in  the  piazza  per- 
suaded themselves  that  all  those  who  were  called  in,  of  whom  none 
came  back,  had  been  made  nobles  of  the  Great  Council.  And  when 
it  was  late  in  the  evening  the  members  of  the  Council  came  down 
armed  into  the  piazza,  and  a  proclamation  was  made  by  order  of  the 
doge  that  all  should  return  to  their  homes  on  pain  of  punishment; 
hearing  which  the  crowd,  struck  with  terror,  had  the  grace  to  disperse 
in  silence.  Then  the  corpses  of  those  who  were  dead  were  brought 
out  and  laid  in  the  piazza,  with  tbe  command  that  if  any  one  touched 
them  it  should  be  at  the  risk  of  his  head.  And  when  it  was  seen  that 
no  one  was  bold  enough  to  approach,  the  rulers  perceived  that  the 
people  were  obedient.  And  some  days  after,  as  they  could  not  toler- 
ate the  stench,  the  bodies  were  buried.  And  in  this  manner  ended 
that  sedition,  so  that  no  one  afterward  ventured  to  open  his  mouth  on 
such  matters." 

This  legend  Saniido  takes^  as  he  tells  us,  from  the  chroni- 
cles of  a  certain  Zaccariada  Pozzo;  and  it  does  not  interfere 
with  his  faith  in  the  narrative  that  he  himself  has  recorded 
on  a  previous  page,  the  execution  of  Bocco  and  his  fellow 
conspirators  '^between  the  columns''  in  the  usual  way. 
Perhaps  he  too  felt  that  this  wild  yet  matter-of-fact  ver- 
sion of  the  incident,  the  closed  doors,  and  the  mysterious 
slaughter  of  the  intruders  in  the  hidden  courts  within,  was 
an  effective  and  natural  way  of  representing  the  action  of 
a  constitutional  change  so  important.  The  names  of  the 
conspirators  who  died  with  Bocconio  are  almost  all  un- 
known and  obscure  names,  yet  there  was  a  sprinkling  of 
patricians,  upholders  of  the  popular  party,  such  as  are  al- 
ways to  be  found  on  similar  occasions,  and  which  reappear 
in  the  more  formidable  insurrection  that  followed.  For 
the  moment,  however,   the  summary   extinction   of   Boc 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  89 

conio's  ill-planned  rebellion  intimidated  and  silenced  the 
people,  while,  on  the  other  side,  it  was  made  an  occasion  of 
tightening  the  bonds  of  the /Serrrt/rt,  and  making  the  ad- 
mission of  tiie  homo  novns  more  difficult  than  ever. 

This  little  rebellion,  so  soon  brought  to  a  conclusion, 
took  place  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1300,  the  year  of  the 
jubilee,  when  all  the  world  was  crowding  to  Rome,  and 
Dante,  standing  on  the  bridge  of  St.  Angelo,  watching  the 
streams  of  the  pilgrims  coming  and  going,  bethought  him- 
self, like  a  true  penitent,  of  his  own  moral  condition,  and 
in  the  musings  of  his  supreme  imagination  found  himself 
astray  in  evil  paths,  and  began  to  seek  through  hell  and 
heaven  the  verace  via,  the  right  way  which  he  had  lost. 
This  great  scene  of  religious  fervor,  in  which  so  many  peni- 
tents from  all  quarters  of  the  world  renewed  the  vows 
of  their  youth  and  pledged  over  again  their  devotion  to  the 
Church  and  the  Faith,  comes  strangely  into  the  midst  of 
the  fierce  strife  between  Guelf  and  Grhibelline,  which  then 
rent  asunder  the  troubled  Continent,  and  especially  Italy, 
where  every  city  took  part  in  the  struggle.  Venice,  in  the 
earlier  ages  as  well  as  in  later  times  when  she  maintained 
her  independence  against  papal  interference,  has  usually 
shown  much  indifference  to  the  authority  of  the  pope.  But 
in  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century  this  was  im- 
possible, especially  when  the  great  republic  of  the  sea  med- 
dled, as  she  had  no  right  to  do,  with  the  internal  policy  of 
that  Terra  Firma,  the  fat  land  of  corn  and  vine,  after 
which  she  had  always  a  longing.  And  there  now  fell  up- 
on her  in  the  midst  of  all  other  contentions  the  most  ter- 
rible of  all  the  catastrophes  to  which  mediaeval  states  were 
subject,  the  curse  of  Rome.  It  was,  no  doubt,  rather  with 
that  keen  eye  to  her  own  advantage  which  never  failed 
her,  than  from  any  distinct  bias  toward  the  side  of  the 
Ghibelline,  that  Venice  had  interposed  in  the  question  of 
succession  which  agitated  the  city  of  Ferrara,  and  finally 
made  an  attempt  to  establish  her  own  authority  in  that  dis- 
tracted place.  Indeed  it  seems  little  more  than  an  acci- 
dental appeal  on  the  part  of  the  other  faction  to  the  pro- 
tection of  the  pope  which  brought  upon   her  the  terrible 


%  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

punishment  of  the  excommunication  which  Pope  Clement 
launched  from  Avignon,  and  which  mined  her  trade,  re- 
duced her  wealth,  put  all  her  wandering  merchants  and 
sailors  in  danger  of  their  lives,  and  almost  threatened  with 
complete  destruction  the  proud  city  which  had  held  her 
head  so  high.  It  would  have  been  entirely  contrary  to  the 
habits  of  Venice,  as  of  every  other  republican  community, 
not  to  have  visited  this  great  calamity  more  or  less  upon 
the  head  of  the  state.  And  it  gave  occasion  to  the  hostile 
families  who  from  the  time  of  Gradenigo's  accession  had 
been  seeking  an  opportunity  against  him,  the  house  of 
Tiepolo  and  its  allies,  tlie  Qnii-ini  who  had  opposed  the  war 
of  Ferrara  all  through  and  had  suffered  severely  in  it,  and 
others,  in  one  way  or  another  adverse  to  the  existing 
government.  The  Tiepolo  do  not  seem  to  have  been  gener- 
ally of  the  mild  and  noble  character  of  him  who  had  re- 
fused to  be  elected  doge  by  the  clamor  of  the  Piazza. 
They  had  formed  all  through  a  bitter  opposition  party  to 
the  doge,  who  had  displaced  their  kinsman.  Perhaps 
even  Jacopo  Tiepolo  himself,  wliile  retiring  from  the  strife 
to  save  the  peace  of  the  republic,  had  a  natural  expectation 
that  the  acclamation  of  the  populace  would  be  confirmed 
by  the  votes  of  the  electors.  At  all  events  his  family  had 
throughout  maintained  a  constitutional  feud,  keeping  a  keen 
eye  upon  all  proceedings  of  the  government,  and  eager  to 
find  a  sufficient  cause  for  interfei'ence  more  practical. 

It  would  seem  a  proof  that  the  popular  mind  had  not 
fully  awakened  to  the  consequences  of  the  change  of  laws 
at  the  moment  of  Bocconio's  insurrection  that  the  patri- 
cian opposition  did  not  seize  tluit  opportunity.  The  occa- 
sion they  sought  came  later,  when  the  disastrous  war  and 
the  horrors  of  the  Interdict,  events  more  immediately  per- 
ceptible than  any  change  of  constitution,  had  excited  all 
minds  and  opened  the  eyes  of  the  people  to  their  internal 
wrongs  by  the  light  of  those  tremendous  misfortunes  which 
the  ambition  or  the  unskillfulness  of  their  doge  and  his 
advisers  had  brought  upon  them.  The  rebellious  faction 
took  advantage  of  all  possible  means  to  fan  the  flame  of 
discontent,  stimulating  the  stormy  debates  of  the  Consiglio 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  91 

Maggiore,  which  was  not  more  but  less  easy  to  manage 
since  it  had  been  restricted  to  the  gentry,  while  at  the 
earne  time  stirring  up  the  people  to  a  sense  of  the  profound 
injury  of  exchisioii  from  its  ranks.  The  Quirini,  the 
Badoeri,  and  various  otliers,  connected  by  blood  and  friend- 
ship with  the  Tiepoli,  among  whom  were  hosts  of  young 
gallants  always  ready  for  a  brawl,  and  ready  to  follow  any 
warlike  lead,  to  quicken  the  action  of  their  seniors,  in- 
creased the  tension  on  all  sides.  How  the  excitement 
grew  in  force  and  passion  day  by  day — how  one  incident 
after  another  raised  the  growing  wrath,  how  scuffles  arose 
in  the  city  and  troubles  multiplied,  it  is  not  difficult  to 
imagine.  On  one  occasion  a  Dandolo  took  the  wall  of  a 
Tiepolo  and  a  fight  ensued  ;  on  another,  "  the  devil,  who 
desires  the  destruction  of  all  governnjent,"  put  it  into  the 
head  of  Marco  Morosini,  one  of  the  Signori  di  Notte  (or 
night  magistrates),  to  inquire  whether  Pietro  Quirini  of 
the  elder  branch  (della  Ca'  Grande)  was  armed,  and  to 
order  him  to  be  searched  :  on  which  Quirini,  enraged, 
tripped  up  the  said  Morosini  with  his  foot,  and  all  Rialto 
was  forthwith  in  an  uproar.  The  houses  of  the  chiefs  of 
the  party,  both  Tiepoli  and  Quirini,  were  in  the  quarter  of 
the  Rialto,  and  close  to  the  bridge. 

At  length  the  gathering  fire  burst  into  flame.  No  doubt 
driven  beyond  patience  by  some  incident,  trifling  in  itself, 
Marco  Quirini,  one  of  the  heads  of  his  house,  a  man  who 
had  siifTered  much  in  the  war  with  Ferrara,  called  his 
friends  and  neighbors  round  him  in  his  palace,  and  ad- 
dressed tiie  assembled  party,  attacking  the  doge  as  the 
cause  of  all  the  troubles  of  the  country,  the  chief  instru- 
ment in  changing  the  constitution,  in  closing  the  Great 
Council  to  the  people,  in  carrying  on  the  fatal  war  with 
Ferrara,  and  bringing  down  upon  the  city  the  horrors  of 
the  excommunication.  To  raise  a  party  against  the  doge 
for  private  reasons,  however  valid,  would  not  be,  he  said, 
the  part  of  a  good  citizen.  But  how  could  they  stand  cold 
spectators  of  the  ruin  of  their  beloved  and  injured  country, 
or  shut  their  eyes  to  the  fact  that  the  evil  passions  of  one 
man  were  the  chief  cause  of   their  misery,  and  that  it  was 


92  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

he  who  had  not  only  brought  disaster  from  without,  but 
by  the  closing  of  the  council,  shut  out  from  public  affairs 
so  many  of  the  worthiest  citizens  ?  He  was  followed  by  a 
younger  and  still  more  ardent  speaker  in  the  person  of 
Bajamonte  Tiepolo,  the  son  of  Jacopo,  with  whose  name 
henceforward  this  historical  incident  is  chiefly  connected, 
at  that  time  one  of  the  most  prominent  figures  in  Venice, 
the  Gra7i  Cavaliero  of  the  people,  who  loved  him,  and 
among  whom  he  had  inherited  his  father's  popularity. 
'^  Let  us  leave  words  and  take  to  action,''  he  said,  ''nor 
pause  till  we  have  placed  on  the  throne  a  good  prince, 
who  will  restore  the  ancient  laws,  and  preserve  and  in- 
crease the  public  freedom."  The  struggle  was  probaby  in 
its  essence  much  more  a  family  feud  than  a  popular  out- 
break, but  it  is  a  sign  of  the  excitement  of  the  time  that 
the  wrongs  of  the  people  were  at  every  turn  appealed  to  as 
the  one  unquestionable  argument. 

Never  had  there  been  a  more  apt  moment  for  a  popular 
rising.  ''In  the  first  place,"  says  Caroldo,  "the  city  was 
very  ill  content  with  the  illustrious  Pietro  Gradenigo,  who 
in  the  beginning  of  his  reign  had  the  boldness  to  reform  the 
Cousiglio  Maggiore,  admitting  a  larger  numbsr  of  families 
who  were  noble,  and  few  of  those  who  ought  to  have  been 
the  principal  and  most  respected  of  the  city,  taking  from 
the  citizens  and  populace  the  ancient  mode  of  admission 
into  the  council :  the  root  of  this  change  being  the  hatred  he 
bore  to  the  people,  who,  before  his  election,  had  proclaimed 
Jacopo  Tiepolo  doge,  and  afterward  had  shown  little  satis- 
faction with  tlie  choice  made  of  himself.  And  not  only 
did  he  bear  rancor  against  Jacopo  Tiepolo,  but  against  the 
whole  of  his  family." 

Notwithstanding  this  rancor  Jacopo  Tiepolo  himself,  the 
good  citizen,  was  the  only  one  who  now  raised  his  voice  for 
peace  and  endeavored  to  calm  the  excitement  of  his  family 
and  their  adherents.  But  the  voice  of  reason  was  not  lis- 
tened to.  On  the  night  of  tlie  14th  of  June,  1310,  ten 
years  after  Bocconio's  brief  and  ill-fated  struggle,  the  fires 
of  insurrection  were  again  lighted  up  in  Venice.  The  con- 
spirators gathered  during  the  night  in  the  Quirini  Palace, 


THE  MAKERS  OP  VENICE.  93 

meeting  under  cover  of  the  darkness  in  order  to  burst  forth 
with  the  early  dawn,  and  with  an  impeto,  a  sudden  rush 
from  the  Rialto  to  the  Piazza,  to  gain  possession  of  the 
center  of  the  city  and  seize  and  kill  the  doge.  The  night, 
however,  was  not  one  of  those  lovely  nights  of  June  which 
make  Venice  a  paradise.  It  was  a  fit  night  for  such  a 
bloody  and  fatal  undertaking  as  that  on  which  these  muf- 
fled conspirators  were  bound.  A  great  storm  of  thunder 
and  lightning,  such  as  has  nowhere  more  magnificent  force 
than  on  the  lagoons,  burst  forth  while  their  bands  were 
assembling,  and  torrents  of  rain  poured  from  the  gloomy 
skies.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  tempest,  which  favored 
while  it  cowed  them,  the  peals  of  the  thunder  making  their 
cries  of  "  Death  to  the  doge  "  and  *' Freedom  to  the  peo- 
ple "  inaudible,  and  muffling  the  tramp  of  their  feet,  that 
the  insurrectionists  set  forth.  One  half  of  the  little  army, 
under  Marco  Quirini,  kept  the  nearer  way  along  the  canal 
by  bridge  and  fondamenta ;  the  other,  led  by  Bajamonte 
himself,  threaded  their  course  by  the  narrow  streets  of  the 
Merceria  to  the  same  central  point.  The  sounds  of  the 
march  were  lost  in  the  commotion  of  nature,  and  the  dawn 
for  which  they  waited  was  blurred  in  the  stormy  tumult  of 
the  elements.  The  dark  line  of  the  rebels  pushed  on,  how- 
ever, spite  of  storm  and  rain,  secure,  it  would  seem,  that 
their  secret  had  been  kept  and  that  their  way  was  clear  be- 
fore them. 

But  in  the  meantime  the  doge^  who,  whatever  were  his 
faults,  seems  to  have  been  a  man  of  energy  and  spirit,  had 
heard,  as  the  authorities  always  heard,  of  the  intended 
rising;  and  taking  his  measures  as  swiftly  and  silently  as 
if  he  had  been  the  conspirator,  called  together  all  the 
officers  of  state,  with  their  retainers  and  servants,  and 
sending  off  messengers  to  Chioggia,  Torcello,  and  Murano 
for  succor,  ranged  his  little  forces  in  the  piazza 
under  the  flashing  of  the  lightning  and  the  pouring  of  the 
rain,  and  silently  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  rebels.  A  more 
dramatic  scene  could  not  be  conceived.  The  two  lines  of 
armed  men  stumbling  on  in  darkness,  waiting  for  a  flash 
to  show  them  the  steps  of  a  bridge  or  the  sharp  corner  of  a 


94  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

narrow  calle,  pressed  on  in  mntiial  emulatioji,  their  hearts 
hot  for  the  attack,  and  all  the  points  of  the  assault  decided 
upon.  When  lo!  as  the  first  detachment,  that  led  by 
Quirini,  debauched  into  the  great  square,  a  sudden  wild 
flash,  lighting  up  earth  and  heaven,  showed  them  the 
gleaming  swords  and  dark  files  of  the  defenders  of  San 
Marco  awaiting  their  arrival.  The  surprise  would  seem  to 
have  been  complete:  but  it  was  not  the  doge  who  was  sur- 
prised. This  unexpected  revelation  precipitated  the  fight 
which  very  shortly,  the  leaders  being  killed  in  the  first  rush, 
turned  into  a  rout.  Bajamonte  appearing  with  his  men 
by  the  side  of  the  Merceria  made  a  better  stand,  but  the 
advantage  remai'  ed  with  the  doge's  party,  who  knew 
what  they  had  to  expect,  and  had  the  superior  confidence 
of  law  and  authority  on  their  side. 

By  this  time  the  noise  of  the  human  tumult  surmounted 
that  of  the  skies,  and  the  peaceful  citizens  who  had  slept 
through  the  storm  woke  to  the  sound  of  the  cries  and 
curses,  the  clash  of  swords  and  armor,  and  rushed  to  their 
windows  to  see  what  the  disturbance  was.  One  woman, 
looking  out,  in  the  mad  passion  of  terror  seized  the  first 
thing  that  came  to  hand,  a  stone  vase  or  mortar  on  her 
window-sill,  and  flung  it  down  at  hazard  into  the  midst  of 
the  tumult.  The  trifling  incident  would  seem  to  have  been 
the  turning-point  of  the  struggle.  The  heavy  flower-pot 
or  mortar  descended  upon  the  head  of  the  standard-bearer 
who  carried  Bajamonte's  flag  with  its  inscription  of  Liberta 
and  struck  him  to  the  ground.  When  the  rebels,  in  the 
gray  of  the  stormy  dawn,  saw  their  banner  waver  and  fall 
a  panic  seized  them.  They  thought  it  was  taken  by  the 
enemy,  and  even  the  leader  himself,  the  Grand  Cavaliero, 
turned  with  the  panic  stricken  crowd  and  fled.  Pursued 
and  flying,  fighting,  making  here  and  there  a  stand,  they 
hurried  through  the  tortuous  ways  to  the  Rialto,  which, 
being  then  no  more  than  a  bridge  of  wood,  they  cut  down 
behind  them,  taking  refuge  on  the  other  side,  where  their 
headquarters  were,  in  the  palace  of  the  Quirini,  the  remains 
of  which,  turned  to  ignoble  use  as  a  poulterer's  shop,  still 
exist  in  the  Beccaria.  The  other  half  of  the  insurrectionists, 


POMTE  DEL  PARADISO. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  95 

that  which  had  been  thrown  into  confusion  and  flight  by 
the  death  of  its  leader,  Marco  Quirini,  met  on  its  disastrous 
backward  course  a  band  hastily  collected  by  the  head  of  the 
Scuola  della  Crita,  and  increased  by  a  number  of  painters 
living  about  the  center  of  their  art — in  the  Campo  San 
Luca,  where  the  rebels  were  cut  to  pieces. 

Bajamonte  and  his  men,  however,  arrived  safely  at 
their  stronghold,  having  on  their  way  sacked  and  burned 
the  office  of  the  customs  on  that  side  of  the  river,  thus 
covering  their  retreat  with  smoke  and  flame.  Once  there 
they  closed  their  gates,  entrenching  their  broken  strength 
in  the  great  medieval  house  which  was  of  itself  a  fortress 
and  defensible  place.  And  after  all  that  had  happened  the 
fate  of  Venice  still  hung  in  the  bahmce,  and  such  was  the 
gravity  of  the  revolt  that  it  still  seemed  possible  for  the 
knot  of  desperate  men  entrenched  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Rive  Alto,  the  deep  stream  which  sweeps  profound  and 
strong  round  that  curve  of  the  bank,  to  gain,  did  Baaoer 
come  back  in  time  with  the  aid  he  had  been  sent  to  seek  in 
Padua,  the  upper  hand.  Even  when  Badoer  was  cut  off 
by  Giustinian  and  his  men  from  Chioggia,  the  doge  and 
his  party,  though  strong  and  confident,  do  not  seem  to 
have  ventured  to  attack  the  headquarters  of  the  rebels. 
On  the  contrary,  envoys  were  sent  to  offer  an  amnesty,  and 
even  pardon,  should  they  submit.  Three  times  these  en- 
voys were  rowed  across  the  canal,  the  ruined  bridge  lying 
black  before  their  eyes,  fretting  the  glittering  waves,  which 
no  doubt  by  this  time,  leaped  and  dashed  against  the  unac- 
customed obstacle  in  all  the  brightness  of  June,  the  thun- 
der-storm over,  though  not  the  greater  tempest  of  human 
passion.  From  the  other  bank,  over  the  charred  ruins  of 
the  houses  they  had  destroyed,  the  rebel  Venetians,  looking 
out  in  their  rage,  disappointment  and  despair,  to  see  em- 
bassy after  embassy  conducted  to  the  edge  of  the  ferry, 
must  have  felt  still  a  certain  fierce  satisfaction  in  their  im- 
portance, and  in  the  alarm  to  which  these  successive  mes- 
sengers testified.  At  last,  however,  there  came  alone  a 
venerable  counselor,  Filippo  Belegno,  "moved  by  love  of 
his  country  "  to  attempt  once  more  the  impossible  task  of 


96  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

moving  these  obstinate  and  desperate  men.  No  doubt  he  put 
before  them  the  agitated  state  of  the  city,  the  strange  sight  it 
was  with  the  ruins  still  smoking,  the  streets  still  full  of  the 
wounded  and  dying  ;  torn  in  two,  the  peaceful  bridge  ly- 
ing a  great  wreck  in  mid-stream.  ''And  such  was  his 
venerable  aspect  and  the  force  of  his  eloquence  "  that  he 
won  the  rebels  at  last  to  submission.  Bajamonte  and  his 
immediate  followers  were  banished  for  life  from  Venice 
and  its  vicinity  to  the  distant  lands  of  Slavonia  beyond 
Zara ;  others  less  prominent  were  allowed  to  hope  that  in 
a  few  years  they  might  be  recalled  ;  and  the  least  guilty, 
on  making  compensation  for  what  they  had  helped  to  de- 
stroy, were  pardoned.  Thus  ended  the  most  serious  revolt 
that  had  ever  happened  in  Venice.  One  cannot  help  feel- 
ing that  it  was  hard  upon  Badoer  and  several  others  who 
were  taken  fighting  to  be  beheaded,  while  Bajamonte  was 
thus  able  to  make  terms  for  himself  and  escape,  with  his 
head  at  least. 

The  lives  thus  spared,  however,  were  but  little  to  be  en- 
vied. The  banishment  to  the  East  was  a  penalty  which 
the  republic  could  not  enforce.  She  could  put  the  rebels 
forth  from  her  territory,  but  even  her  power  was  unable  in 
those  wild  days  to  secure  a  certain  place  of  banishment  for 
the  exiles.  Those  who  are  familiar  with  the  life  of  Dante 
will  remember  what  was  the  existence  of  ?^  fuor-uscito 
banished  from  the  beloved  walls  of  Florence.  Bajamonte 
Tiepolo  was  a  personage  of  greater  social  importance  than 
Dante,  with  friends  and  allies  no  doubt  in  all  the  neighbor- 
ing cities,  as  it  was  natural  a  man  should  have  who  be- 
longed to  one  of  the  greatest  Venetian  families.  The 
records  of  the  state  are  full  of  signs  and  tokens  of  his 
passage  through  the  Italian  mainland,  and  his  long  wan- 
derings afterward  on  the  Dalmatian  coasts.  He  was 
scarcely  well  got  rid  of  out  of  Venice  before  the  doge  is 
visible  in  the  records  making  a  great  speech  in  the  council, 
in  which  he  gives  a  lively  picture  of  the  state  of  affairs  and 
of  the  contumacy  of  Bajamonte  and  his  companions,  their 
visits  to  Padua  and  Rovigo,  their  pai'leys  with  the  turbu- 
lent spirits  of  the  Marshes,  and  even  of  Lombardy — their 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  97 

perpetual  attempts  to  raise  again  tlie  standard  of  revolt 
in  Venice.  It  may  be  supposed  even  that  the  doge  died  of 
this  revolt  and  its  consequences,  in  the  passion  and  endless 
harassment  consequent  upon  the  constant  macliinations  of 
his  opponent,  wlioni  indeed  he  had  got  the  better  of,  but 
who  wouki  not  yield. 

Romance  has  scarcely  taken  hold,  except  in  obscure  at- 
tempts, upon  the  juxtaposition  of  these  two  men:  but 
nothing  seems  more  likely  than  that  some  profounder  per- 
sonal tragedy  lay  at  the  bottom  of  this  historical  episode. 
At  all  events  the  characters  of  the  two  opponents,  the  doge 
and  the  rebel,  are  strongly  contrasted,  and  fit  for  all  the 
uses  of  tragedy.  Had  Venice  possessed  a  Dante,  or  had 
Bajamonte  been  gifted  with  a  poet's  utterance,  who  can  tell 
in  what  dark  cave  of  the  Inferno  the  reader  of  those  distant 
ages  might  not  have  found  the  dark  unfriendly  doge,  sternly 
determined  to  carry  through  his  plans,  to  shut  out  con- 
temptuously from  his  patrician  circle  every  low-born  as- 
pirant, and  to  betray  the  beloved  city,  whose  boast  had 
always  been  of  freedom,  into  the  tremendous  fetters  of  a 
system  more  terrible  than  any  despotism  ?  Gradenigo,  so 
far  as  he  can  be  identified  personally,  would  seem  to  have 
been  an  excellent  type  of  the  haughty  aristocrat,  scornful 
of  the  new  men  who  formed  the  rising  tide  of  Venetian 
life,  and  determined  to  keep  in  the  place  in  which  they 
were  born  the  inferior  populace.  He  had  been  employed 
in  distant  dependencies  of  the  republic  where  a  state  of  re- 
volt was  chronic,  and  where  the  most  heroic  measures  were 
necessary:  and  it  was  clear  to  him  that  there  must  be  no 
hesitation,  no  trifling  with  the  forces  below.  When  he  be- 
came doge,  Venice  was  still  to  some  extent  governed  by  her 
old  traditions,  and  it  was  yet  possible  that  the  democracy 
might  have  largely  invaded  her  sacred  ranks  of  patrician 
power.  She  was  ruled  by  an  intricate  and  shifting  magis- 
tracy of  councils,  sages,  pregadi  (the  simplest  primitive 
title,  men  **  prayed"  to  come  and  help  the  doge  with  their 
advice),  among  whom  it  is  difficult  to  tell  which  was  which 
or  how  many  there  were,  or  how  long  any  one  man  held  his 
share  of  power.     But  when  Perazzo,  proud  Peter,  the  man 


98  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

whom  the  commons  did  not  love,  of  whom  no  doubt  they 
had  many  a  story  to  tell,  ended  his  reign  in  Venice,  the 
Great  Council  had  become  hereditary,  the  old  possibilities 
were  all  ended,  and  the  Council  of  Ten  sat  supreme — an 
institution  altogether  new,  and  as  terrible  as  unknown — a 
sort  of  shifting  but  permanent  Council  of  Public  Safety  en- 
dowed with  supreme  and  irresponsible  power.  A  greater 
political  revolution  could  not  be.  The  armed  revolution- 
aries who  carried  sword  and  flame  throughout  the  city 
could  not,  had  they  been  successful  in  their  conjectured 
purpose  of  making  Bajamonte  lord  of  Venice,  have  ac- 
complished a  greater  change  in  the  state  than  was  done 
silently  by  this  determined  man. 

That  he  was  determined  and  prompt  and  bold  is  evident 
from  all  his  acts.  The  rapidity  and  silence  of  his  prep- 
arations to  rout  the  insurgents;  the  trap  in  which  he 
caught  them  when,  marching  under  cover  of  the  thunder 
to  surprise  him  in  his  palace,  they  were  themselves  surprised 
in  the  Piazza  by  a  little  army  more  strong  because  fore- 
warned than  their  own;  the  brave  face  he  showed  at  another 
period,  even  in  front  of  the  pope's  excommunication,  pro- 
claiming loudly  to  his  distant  envoys,  ^'We  are  determined 
to  do  all  that  is  in  us,  manfully  and  promptly,  to  preserve 
our  rights  and  our  honor;"  the  boldness  of  his  tremendous 
innovations  upon  the  very  fabric  of  the  state;  and  that 
final  test  of  success  which  forcible  character  and  determi- 
nation are  more  apt  than  justice  or  mercy  to  win — leave  no 
doubt  as  to  his  intrinsic  qualities.  He  was  successful,  and 
his  rival  was  unfortunate:  he  was  hated,  and  the  other  was 
beloved.  Neither  of  these  two  figures  stand  prominent  in 
picturesque  personal  detail  out  of  the  pages  of  history. 
We  see  them  only  by  their  acts,  and  only  in  so  far  as  those 
acts  affected  the  great  all-absorbing  story  of  their  city.  But 
the  influence  of  Perazzo  upon  that  history  is  perhaps  more 
remarkable  than  that  of  any  other  individual  so  far  as  law 
and  sovei^ignty  is  concerned. 

The  rebel  leader  was  a  very  different  man.  The  noble 
youth  whom  Venice  called  the  Gran  Cavaliero — the  young 
cavalier,  as  one  might  say,  like  our  own  Prince  Charlie — 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  9& 

fiery  and  swift,  bidding  his  kinsman  not  talk  but  act — the 
hope  of  the  elder  men,  put  forth  by  Marco  Quirini  as  most 
worthy  of  all  to  be  heard  when  the  malcontents  first  gath- 
ered in  the  palace  near  the  Rialto,  and  ventured  to  tell 
each  other  what  was  in  their  hearts — could  have  been  no 
common  gallant,  and  yet  would  seem  to  have  had  the  faults 
and  weaknesses  as  well  as  the  noble  qualities  of  the  careless, 
foolhardy  cavalier.  No  doubt  he  held  his  life  as  lightly  as 
any  knight-errant  of  the  time  :  yet  when  his  kinsman  fell 
in  the  narrow  entrance  of  the  Merceria  in  the  wild  dawn- 
ing when  foes  and  friends  were  scarcely  to  be  distinguished, 
Bajamonte,  too,  was  carried  away  by  the  quick  imaginary 
panic  and  retreated,  dragged  along  in  the  flight  of  his  dis- 
couraged followers.  He  had  not  that  proof  of  earnestness 
which  success  gives,  and  he  had  the  ill-fortune  to  escape 
when  other  men  perished.  The  narrative  which  Romanin 
has  collected  out  of  the  unpublished  records  of  his  after- 
life, presents  a  picture  of  restless  exile,  never  satisfied,  full 
of  conspiracies,  hopeless  plots,  everlasting  spyings  and 
treacheries  which  make  the  heart  sick.  We  can  only 
remember  that  Bajamonte  was  no  worse  in  this  respect 
than  his  great  contemporary,  Dante.  And  perhaps  the 
two  exiles  may  have  met,  if  not  on  those  stairs  which  the 
poet  found  so  hard  to  climb,  yet  somewhere  in  the  wild 
roaming  which  occupied  both  their  lives,  full  of  a  hundred 
fruitless  schemes  to  get  back,  this  to  Florence,  that  to 
Venice.  Romanin,  ever  severe  to  the  rebel,  argues  that  all 
circumstances  and  all  documents  prove  the  hero  of  the 
Venetian  tragedy  to  have  been  *'a  man  of  excessive  ambi- 
tion, a  subverter  of  law  and  order;  in  fact,  a  traitor'' — 
most  terrible  of  all  reproaches.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact  it 
was  not  he  but  his  adversary  who  subverted  the  civil  order 
of  tlie  republic,  and  whether  the  young  Tiepolo  had  a  true 
sense  of  patriotism  at  his  heart,  and  of  patriotic  indigna- 
tion against  these  innovations,  or  was  merely  one  of  the 
many  ambitious  adventurers  of  the  day  struck  with  the 
idea  of  making  himself  lord  of  Venice  as  the  Scaligeri  were 
lords  in  Padua  on  no  better  title — there  seems  no  evidence, 
and  probaby  never  will  be  any  evidence,  to  show. 


100  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

When  Bajamonte  left  Venice  he  proceeded  anywhere  but 
to  the  distant  countries  to  which  he  was  nominally  ban- 
ished. Evidently  all  that  was  done  in  the  way  of  carrying 
out  such  a  sentence  was  to  drive  the  banished  men  out  of 
the  confines  of  the  republic,  leaving  them  free  to  obey  the 
further  orders  of  the  authorities  if  they  chose.  In  this 
case  the  exiles  lingered  about  secretly  for  some  time  in 
neighboring  cities,  watched  by  spies  who  reported  all  their 
actions,  and  especially  those  of  Bajamonte,  to  the  doge. 
When  at  last  he  did  proceed  to  Dalmatia,  he  became,  ac- 
cording to  Eomanin,  a  center  of  conspiracy  and  treason, 
and  at  the  bottom  of  the  endless  rebellions  of  Zara,  which, 
however,  had  rebelled  on  every  possible  occasion  long  be- 
fore Bajamonte  was  born.  It  is  curious  to  find  that  all  the 
chroniclers,  and  even  a  writer  so  recent  and  so  enlightened 
as  Romanin,  should  remain  pitiless  toward  all  rebels 
against  the  authority  of  the  republic.  The  picture  this 
historian  gives  of  Bujamonte's  obscure  and  troubled  career, 
pursued  from  one  city  to  another  by  the  spies  and  letters 
of  the  signoria  warning  all  and  sundry  to  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  rebel,  and  making  his  attempts  to  re-enter  life 
impossible,  is  a  very  sad  one  ;  but  no  pity  for  the  exile  ever 
moves  the  mind  of  the  narrator.  For  with  the  Venetian 
historian,  as  with  all  other  members  of  this  wonderful  com- 
monwealth, Venice  is  everything,  and  the  individual  noth- 
ing :  nor  are  any  man's  wrongs  or  suffering  of  any  impor- 
tance in  comparison  with  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  the 
adored  city. 

The  traces  of  this  insurrection,  have  in  the  long  progress 
of  years  almost  entirely  disappeared,  though  at  the  time 
many  commemorative  monuments  bore  witness  to  the 
greatest  popular  convulsion  which  ever  moved  Venice. 
The  Tiepolo  palace,  inhabited  by  Bajamonte,  was  razed  to 
the  ground,  and  a  pillar,  una  colonna  d'infamia,  was  placea 
on  the  spot  with  the  following  inscription. ; 


THE  MAKERS  OF   VENICE.  101 

•*  Di  Baiainonte  fo  questo  terreno, 

E  mo*  per  lo  so  Iniquo  tradimento 
S'e  posto  in  Chomun  per  I'altrui  spavento 
E  per  inostrar  a  tutti  seinpre  seno." 

"This  was  the  dwelling  of  Bajamonte:  for  his  wicked 
treason  this  stone  is  set  up,  tiiat  others  may  fear  and  that 
it  may  be  a  sign  to  all."  The  column  was  broken,  Tassini 
tells  us  in  his  curious  and  valuable  work  upon  the 
Streets  of  Venice,  soon  after  it  was  set  up,  by  one  of  the 
followers  of  Tiepolo  who  had  shared  in  the  amuesty,  but 
whose  fidelity  to  his  ancient  chief  was  still  too  warm  to 
endure  this  public  mark  of  infamy.  It  was  then  removed 
to  the  close  neighborhood  of  the  parish  church  of  S. 
Agostino,  probably  for  greater  safety;  afterward  it  was 
transferred,  no  longer  as  a  mark  of  shame  but  as  a  mere  anti- 
quity, from  one  patrician's  garden  to  another,  till  it  was 
finally  lost.  In  later  times,  when  the  question  was  se- 
riously discussed  whether  Bajamonte  was  not  a  patriot 
leader  rather  than  a  tiaitor,  proposals  were  made  to  raise 
again  the  column  of  shame  as  a  testimony  of  glory  mis- 
understood. But  the  convictions  of  the  rehabilitators  of 
the  Gran  Cavaliero  have  not  been  strong  enough  to  come  to 
any  practical  issue,  all  that  remains  of  him  is  (or  was)  a 
white  stone  let  into  the  pavement  behind  the  now  sup- 
pressed church  of  S.  Agostino  with  the  inscription — *'Col: 
Bai:  The:  MCCCX.,"  marking  the  site  of  his  house:  but 
whether  a  relic  of  his  own  age  or  the  work  of  some  more 
recent  sympathizer  we  are  not  told.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  canal  in  the  campoof  San  Luca  stood  till  very  recent 
times  a  flagstatf  ornamented  on  gala  days  with  the  standard 
of  the  Scuola  of  the  Carita  in  remembrance  of  their  victory 
over  one  party  af  the  insurrectionists;  and  in  the  Merceria 
not  far  from  the  piazza,  there  still  exists,  or  lately  existed 
a  shop  witli  the  sign  ''Delia  grazia  del  morter"  being  the 
same  out  of  which  Giustina  Rossi  threw  forth  the  flower- 
pot, to  the  destruction  of  the  failing  cause. 

"  <^uel  MO  del  secondo  verso,''  says  Tassini,  "«pt>5rrt«i  per  OR  A,  le  quel 
Sbno  deW  ultimo  per  Sieno,  sotC  iatendenovi,  queste  parole." 


102  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Another  singular  sign  of  disgrace  and  punishment  was 
the  condemnation  of  the  families  of  Quirini  and  Tiepolo 
to  a  change  of  amorial  bearings.  Had  they  been  compelled, 
to  wear  their  arms  reversed  or  to  bear  any  other  under- 
stood lieraldic  symbol  of  shame  this  would  have  been 
comprehensible:  but  all  that  seems  to  have  been  demanded 
of  them  was  a  change  of  their  bearings,  not  any  igno- 
minious sign.  The  authorities  went  so  far  as  to  change 
the  arms  upon  the  shields  of  the  two  defunct  Tiepoli  doges, 
a  most  senseless  piece  of  vengeance,  since  it  obliterated  the 
shame  which  it  was  intended  to  enhance.  The  palaces  still 
standing  along  the  course  of  the  Grand  Canal  which  carry 
rising  from  their  roofs  the  two  obelisks,  erected  upon  all 
the  houses  of  the  Tiepoli  for  some  reason  unknown  to  us, 
prove  that  in  latter  days  the  race  was  little  injured  or 
diminished  by  its  disgrace  and  punishment. 

A  much  greater  memorial  of  this  foiled  rebellion  however 
still  remains  to  be  noticed.  This  was  the  institution  of  the 
far-famed  Council  of  Ten,  the  great  tribunal  which  hence- 
forward reigned  over  the  republic  with  a  sway  which  was  in 
sober  reality  tremendous  and  appalling,  but  which  is  still 
further  enhanced  by  the  mystery  in  which  all  its  proceed- 
ings were  wrapped,  and  the  impression  made  upon  an  im- 
aginative people  by  the  shadow  of  this  great  secret,  voice- 
less tribunal,  every  man  of  which  was  sworn  to  silence, 
and  before  which  any  Venetian  at  any  moment  might  find 
himself  arraigned.  It  was  professedly  to  guard  against 
such  a  danger  as  that  which  the  republic  had  just  escaped 
that  this  new  tribunal  was  instituted,  *' Because  of  the  new 
thing  which  had  happened,  and  to  guard  against  any  repe- 
tition of  it."  Among  the  many  magistratures  of  the  city 
this  was  the  greatest,  most  fatal,  and.  important :  it  held 
the  keys  of  life  and  death  :  it  was  responsible  to  no  supe- 
rior authority,  permitted  no  appeal,  and  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  public  opinion  or  criticism,  its  decisions  as 
unquestionable  as  they  were  secret.  The  system  of  de- 
nunciation, the  secret  documents  dropped  into  the  Bocca 
di  Leone,  the  mysterious  processes  by  which  a  man  might 
be  condemned  before  he  knew  that  he  had  been  accused. 


TBE  MAKERS  OF  VKNtCJi!,  lOS 

have  perhaps  been  exaggerated,  and  Romanin  does  his 
utmost  to  prove  that  the  dreaded  council  was  neither  so 
formidable  nor  so  mysterious  as  romance  has  made  it  out 
to  be.  But  his  arguments  are  but  poor  in  comparison  with 
the  evident  dangers  of  an  institution,  whose  proceedings 
were  wrapped  in  secrecy  and  which  was  accountable  neither 
to  public  opinion  nor  to  any  higher  tribunal.  Political 
offenses  in  our  own  day  are  judged  more  leniently  than 
crime :  in  those  times  they  were  of  deeper  dye  than  any- 
thing that  originated  in  private  rage  or  covetousness.  And 
amid  the  family  jealousies  of  that  limited  society  the  op- 
portunity thus  given  of  cutting  off  an  enemy,  undermining 
the  reputation  of  any  offender,  or  spoiling  the  career  of  a 
too  prosperous  rival,  was  too  tremendous  a  temptation  for 
human  nature  to  resist.  This  formidable  court  was,  in 
conformity  with  the  usual  Venetian  custom,  appointed  first 
for  a  year  only,  as  an  experiment,  and  with  the  special 
purpose  of  forestalling  further  rebellion  by  the  most  sus- 
picious and  inquisitive  vigilance :  but  once  established  it 
was  too  mighty  a  power  to  be  abandoned  and  soon  became 
an  established  institution. 

Thus  the  two  rebellions  did  nothing  but  rivet  the  chains 
which  had  been  woven  about  the  limbs  of  the  republic. 
And  though  there  still  remained  the  boast  of  freedom,  and 
the  City  of  the  Sea  always  continued  to  vaunt  her  repub- 
lican severity  and  strength,  Venice  now  settled  into  the  tre- 
mendous framework  of  a  system  which  had  no  room  for 
the  plebeian  or  the  poor,  more  rigid  than  any  individual 
despotism,  in  which  there  are  always  chances  for  the  new 
man,  more  autocratic  and  irresponsible  than  the  govern- 
ment of  any  absolute  monarch.  The  Council  of  Ten  com- 
pleted the  bonds  which  the  serrata  of  the  council  had 
made.  The  greatest  splendors,  if  not  the  greatest  triumphs 
of  the  state  were  yet  to  come,  but  all  the  possibilities  of 
political  freedom  and  expansion  were  finally  destroyed. 

The  circumstances  which  surrounded  this  new  institu- 
tion were  skillfully,  almost  theatrically  disposed  to  in- 
crease the  terror  with  which  it  was  soon  regarded.  The 
vow  of  secrecy  exacted  from  each  member  and  from  all  who 


104  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

appeared  before  tliem,  the  lion's  mouth  ever  open  for  de- 
nunciations— which  however  well-founded  may  be  Roma- 
nin's  assertion  that  those  which  were  anonymous  were 
rarely  acted  upon,  yet  bore  an  impression  of  the  possibility 
of  a  dastardly  and  secret  blow,  which  nothing  can  wipe 
out — the  mysterious  manner  in  which  a  man  accused  was 
brought  before  that  tribunal  in  the  dark,  to  answer  to  judges 
only  partially  seen,  with  the  consciousness  of  the  torture- 
room  and  all  its  horrors  near,  if  his  startled  wits  should 
fail  him — all  were  calculated  to  make  the  name  of  the  Ten 
a  name  of  fear.  Notliing  could  be  more  grim  tlian  the 
smile  of  that  doge  who  leaving  the  council  chamber  in  the 
early  sunshine  after  a  prolonged  meeting  answered  the  un- 
suspicious good-morrow  of  the  great  soldier  whom  he  had 
been  condemning,  with  the  words,  **  There  has  been  much 
talk  of  you  in  the  council."  Horrible  greeting,  which 
meant  so  much  more  than  met  the  ear  ! 

The  Doge  Gradenigo  died  little  more  than  a  year  after 
the  confusion  and  discomfiture  of  his  adversaries.  He  was 
conveyed,  without  funeral  honors  or  any  of  the  respect 
usually  shown  to  the  dead,  to  S.  Ciprianoin  Murano,  where 
he  was  buried.  '^  The  usual  funeral  of  princes  was  not 
given  to  him,"  says  Caroldo,  '^  perhaps  because  he  was  still 
under  the  papal  excommunication,  perhaps  because,  hated 
as  he  was  by  the  people  in  his  lifetime,  it  was  feared  that 
some  riot  would  rise  around  him  in  his  death."  He  who 
had  carried  out  the  serrata,  and  established  the  Council  of 
Ten,  and  triumphed  over  all  his  personal  opponents,  had 
to  skulk  over  the  lagoon,  privately,  against  all  precedent 
to  his  grave,  leaving  the  state  iji  unparalleled  trouble  and 
dismay.  But  he  had  crushed  the  rebel,  whether  patriot  or 
conspirator,  and  revolutionized  Venice,  which  was  work 
enough  and  success  enough  for  one  man.  He  died  in 
August,  1311,  a  year  and  some  months  after  the  banish- 
ment of  Bajamonteand  the  end  of  his  rebellion. 


THE  MAKERh  OF  VENICE.  105 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   DOGES  DISGRACED. 

The  history  of  the  two  princes  to  whom  Venice  has 
given  a  histing  place  in  the  annals  of  the  unfortunate, 
those  records  wliich  hold  a  surer  spell  over  the  heart  than 
any  of  the  more  triumphant  chronicles  of  fame,  are  of  less 
material  import  to  her  own  great  story  tlian  those  chapters 
of  self  developement  and  self-construction  which  we  have 
surveyed.  But  picturesque  in  all  things  and  with  a  dra- 
matic instinct  winch  rarely  fails  to  her  race,  the  republic 
even  in  the  height  of  her  vengeance,  and  by  means  of  the 
deprivation  which  has  banished  his  image  from  among 
those  of  her  rulers,  has  made  the  name  of  the  be- 
headed doge,  Marino  Faliero,  one  of  the  best  known  in  all 
her  records.  We  pass  the  row  of  pictured  faces,  many  of 
them  representing  her  greatest  sons,  till  we  come  to  the 
place  where  this  old  man  is  not,  his  absence  being  doubly 
suggestive  and  carrying  a  human  interest  beyond  tliat  of 
all  fulfilled  and  perfect  records.  Nor  is  it  without  signifi- 
cance in  the  history  of  the  state,  that  after  having  finally 
suppressed  and  excluded  the  popular  element  from  all 
voice  in  its  councils,  the  great  oligarchy  which  had  achieved 
its  proud  position  by  means  of  doge  and  people,  should 
have  applied  itself  to  the  less  dangerous  task  of  making  a 
puppet  of  its  nominal  prince,  converting  him  into  a  mere 
functionary  and  ornamental  head  of  the  state.  Such  words 
have  been  applied  often  enough  to  the  constitutional  monarch 
of  our  own  highly  refined  and  balanced  system,  and  it  is  usual 
to  applaud  the  strict  and  honorable  self-restraint  of  our  Eng- 
lish sovereign  as  the  brightest  of  royal  qualities:  but  these 
were  strange  to  the  mediaeval  imagination,  which  had  little 


106  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

understanding  of  a  prince  who  was  no  ruler.  Whether  it 
was  in  accordance  with  some  tremendous  principle  of  action 
secretly  conceived  in  the  minds  of  the  men  who  had  by  a 
series  of  skillful  and  cautious  movements  made  the  parlia- 
ment of  Venice  into  an  assembly  of  patricians,  and  then 
neutralize  that  assembly  by  the  still  more  startling  power 
of  the  Council  of  Ten — that  this  work  was  accomplished, 
it  is  impossible  to  tell.  It  is  difficult  indeed  to  imagine 
that  such  a  plan  could  be  carried  from  generation  to  gener- 
ation though  it  might  well  be  conceived,  like  Stafford's 
'^Thorough,"  in  the  subtle  intellect  of  some  one  far-seeing 
legislator.  Probably  the  Venetian  statesmen  were  but  fol- 
lowing the  current  of  a  tendency  such  as  serves  all  the  pur- 
pose of  a  foregone  determination  in  many  conjunctures  of 
human  affairs — a  tendency  which  one  after  another  leader 
caught  or  was  caught  by,  and  which  swept  toward  its  log- 
ical conclusion  innumerable  kindred  minds  with  something 
of  the  tragic  cumulative  force  of  those  agencies  of  nature 
against  which  man  can  do  so  little.  It  was  however  a  nat- 
ural balance  to  the  defeat  of  the  people  that  the  doge  also 
should  be  defeated  and  bound.  And  from  the  earliest  days 
of  recognized  statesmanship  this  had  been  the  subject  of 
continual  effort,  taking  first  the  form  of  a  jealous  terror  of 
dynastic  succession,  and  gradually  growing,  through  oaths 
more  binding  and  promissioyii  more  detailed  and  stringent 
until  at  length  the  doge  found  himself  less  than  the  master, 
a  little  more  than  the  slave,  of  those  fluctuating  yet  con- 
sistent possessors  of  the  actual  power  of  the  state,  who  had 
by  degrees  gathered  the  entire  government  into  their 
hands. 

Marino  Faliero  had  been  an  active  servant  of  Venice 
through  a  long  life.  He  had  filled  almost  all  the  great 
offices  which  were  entrusted  to  her  nobles.  He  had  gov- 
erned her  distant  colonies,  accompanied  her  armies  in  that 
position  of  proveditore,  omnipotent  civilian  critic  of  all  the 
movements  of  war,  which  so  much  disgusted  the  generals 
of  the  republic.  He  had  been  ambassador  at  the  courts  of 
both  emperor  and  pope,  and  was  serving  his  country  in 
that  capacity  at  Avignon  when   the  news   of  his  election 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  10? 

reached  him.  It  is  thus  evident  that  Faliero  was  not  a 
man  used  to  the  position  of  a  lay  figure,  although  at  seventy- 
six  the  dignified  retirement  of  a  throne,  even  when  so  en- 
circled with  restrictions,  would  seem  not  inappropriate. 
That  he  was  of  a  haughty  and  hasty  temper  seems  apparent. 
It  is  told  of  him  that  after  waiting  long  for  a  bisliop  to 
head  a  procession  at  Treviso  where  he  was  podesta,  he  as- 
tonished the  tardy  prelate  by  a  box  on  the  ear  when  he 
finally  appeared,  a  punishment  for  keeping  the  authorities 
waiting  which  the  churchman  would  little  expect. 

Old  age  to  a  statesman  however  is  in  many  cases  an 
advantage  rather  than  a  defect,  and  Faliero  was  young  in 
vigor  and  character,  and  still  full  of  life  and  strength. 
He  was  married  a  second  time  to  presumably  a  beautiful 
wife  much  younger  than  himself,  though  the  chroniclers 
are  not  agreed  even  on  the  subject  of  her  name,  whether 
she  was  a  Gradenigo  or  a  Contarini.  Tlie  well-known 
story  of  young  Steno's  insult  to  this  lady  and  to  her  old 
husband  has  found  a  place  in  all  subsequent  histories — but 
there  is  no  trace  of  it  in  the  unpublished  documents  of  the 
state.  The  story  goes,  that  Michel  Steno,  one  of  those 
young  and  insubordinate  gallants  who  are  a  danger  to  every 
aristocratic  state,  having  been  turned  out  of  the  presence 
of  the  dogaressa  for  some  unseemly  freedom  of  behavior 
wrote  upon  the  chair  of  the  doge  in  boyish  petulance  an 
insulting  taunt,  such  as  might  well  rouse  a  high-tempered 
old  man  to  fury.  According  to  Sanudo,  the  young  man  on 
being  brought  before  the  Forty,  confessed  that  lie  had  thus 
avenged  himself  in  a  fit  of  passion;  and  regard  having  been 
had  to  his  age  and  the  *'heat  of  love"  which  had  been 
the  cause  of  his  original  misdemeanor  (a  reason  seldom 
taken  into  account  by  the  tribunals  of  the  state)  he  was 
condemmed  to  prison  for  two  months,  and  afterward  to  be 
banished  for  a  year  from  Venice.  The  doge  took  this  light 
punishment  greatly  amiss,  considering  it  indeed  asa  further 
insult.  Sabellico  says  not  a  word  of  Michel  Steno,  or  of 
this  definite  cause  of  offense,  and  Romanin  quotes  the  con- 
temporary records  to  show  that  though  ^'Alcunizovannelli, 
fioli  de  gentiluomini  di  Venetia"  are  supposed  to  have  af- 


108  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

fronted  the  doge,  no  such  story  finds  a  place  in  any  of 
them.  Bat  the  old  man  thus  translated  from  active  life 
and  power,  soon  became  bitterly  sensible  in  his  new  position 
that  he  was  senza  parentado,  with  few  relations,  and 
flouted  by  the  giovitiastri,  the  dissolute  young  gentlemen 
who  swaggered  about  the  Broglio  in  their  finery,  strong  in 
their  support  of  fathers  and  uncles  among  the  Forty  or  the 
Ten.  That  he  found  himself  at  the  same  time  shelved  in 
his  new  rank,  powerless,  and  regarded  as  a  nobody  in  the 
state  where  hitherto  he  had  been  a  potent  signior — mastered 
in  every  action  by  the  Secret  Tribunal,  and  presiding  nomi- 
nally in  councils  where  his  opinion  was  of  little  consequence 
— is  evident.  And  a  man  so  well  acquainted  and  so  long, 
with  all  the  proceedings  of  the  state  who  had  been  entering 
middle  age  in  the  days  of  Bajamonte,  who  had  seen  con- 
summated the  shutting  out  of  the  people,  and  since  had 
watched  through  election  after  election  a  gradual  tighten- 
ing of  the  bonds  round  the  feet  of  the  doge,  would  natur- 
ally have  many  thoughts  when  he  found  himself  the  wearer 
of  that  restricted  and  diminished  crown.  He  could  not  be 
unconscious  of  how  the  stream  was  going,  nor  unaware  of 
that  gradual  sapping  of  privilege  and  decreasing  of  power 
which  even  in  his  own  case  had  gone  further  than  with  his 
predecessor.  Perhaps  he  had  noted  with  an  indignant 
mind  the  new  limits  of  the  promissione,  a  narrower  charter 
than  ever,  when  he  was  called  upon  to  sign  it.  He  had  no 
mind,  we  may  well  believe,  to  retire  thus  from  the  ad- 
ministration of  afl'airs.  And  when  these  giovinastri,  other 
people's  boys,  the  scum  of  the  gay  world,  flung  theii  un- 
savory jests  in  the  face  of  the  old  man,  who  had  no  son  to 
come  after  him,  the  silly  insults  so  lightly  uttered,  so  little 
thought  of,  the  natural  scoff  of  youth  at  old  age,  stung 
him  to  the  quick. 

And  it  so  happened  that  various  complaints  were  at  this 
moment  presented  to  the  doge  in  which  his  own  cause  of  of- 
fense was  repeated.  A  certain  Barbaro,  one  of  the  reign- 
ing class,  asking  something  at  the  arsenal  of  an  old  sailor, 
an  admiral  higli  in  rank  and  in  the  love  of  the  people,  but 
not  a  patrician,  who  was  not  of   his  opinion,   struck  the 


THE  MAKERS  OP  VENICE.  109 

officer  on  the  cheek,  and  wounded  him  with  a  great  ring  he 
wore.  A  siiiiihir  incident  occurred  between  a  Dandolo  and 
another  sea  captain,  Bertuccio  Isarello;  and  in  both  cases 
the  injured  men,  old  comrades  very  probably  of  Faliero, 
men  whom  he  had  seen  representing  the  republic  on  stormy 
seas  or  boarding  the  Genoese  galleys,  carried  their  com- 
plaints to  the  doge.  **Such  evil  beasts  should  be  bound, 
and  when  they  cannot  be  bound  they  are  killed!"  cried 
one  of  the  irritated  seamen.  Such  words  were  not  un- 
known to  the  Venetian  echoes.  Not  long  before,  a  wealthy 
citizen,  who  in  his  youth  had  been  of  Bajamonte's  insur- 
rection, had  breathed  a  similar  sentiment  in  the  ears  of 
another  rich  plebeian,  after  both  had  expressed  theirindig- 
nation  that  the  consiglio  was  shut  against  them.  The 
second  man  in  this  case  betrayed  the  first;  and  got  the  much 
coveted  admission  in  consequence:  he  and  his,  while  his 
friend  made  that  fatal  journey  to  the  Piazzetta  between  the 
columns,  from  which  no  man  ever  came  back. 

Old  Faliero  s  heart  burned  within  himat  his  own  injuries 
and  those  of  his  old  comrades.  How  he  was  induced  to 
head  the  conspiracy,  and  put  his  crown,  his  life,  and  honor 
on  the  cast,  there  is  no  further  information.  His  fierce 
temper,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  no  powerful  house  behind 
him  to  help  to  support  his  case,  probably  made  him  reck- 
less. It  was  in  the  April  of  1355,  only  six  months,  after 
his  arrival  in  Venice  as  doge,  that  the  smoldering  fire 
broke  out.  As  happened  always,  two  of  the  conspirators 
were  seized  witli  a  compunction  on  the  eve  of  the  catas- 
trophe and  betrayed  the  plot — one  with  a  merciful  motive  to 
serve  a  patrician  beloved,  the  other  with  perhaps  less  noble 
intentions;  and  without  a  blow  struck  the  conspiracy  col- 
lapsed. There  was  no  real  heart  in  it,  nothing  to  give  it 
consistence:  the  hot  passion  of  a  few  men  insulted,  the 
variable  gaseous  excitement  of  those  wronged  commoners 
who  were  not  strong  enough  or  strenuous  enough  to  make 
the  cause  triumph  under  Bajamonte;  and  the  ambition,  if 
it  wasambitiom,  of  one  enraged  and  affronted  old  man, 
without  an  heir  to  follow  him  or  anything  that  could  make 
it  worth  his  while  to  conquer. 


110  THE  MAKEIIS  OF  VENICE. 

Did  Faliero  ever  expect  to  conquc^r,  one  wonders,  when 
he  embarked  at  seventy-seven  on  such  an  enterprise  ?  And 
if  he  had,  what  good  could  it  have  done  him  save  vengeance 
upon  his  enemies  ?  An  enterprise  more  wild  was  never 
undertaken.  It  was  the  passionate  stand  of  despair  against 
a  force  so  overwhelming  as  to  make  mad  the  helpless  yet 
not  submissive  victims.  The  doge,  who  no  doubt  in  former 
days  had  felt  it  to  be  a  mere  affair  of  the  populace,  a  thing 
with  which  a  noble  ambassador  and  proveditore  had  nothing 
to  do,  a  struggle  beneath  his  notice,  found  himself  at  last, 
with  fury  and  amazement,  to  be  a  fellow-sufferer  caught 
in  the  same  toils.  There  seems  no  rejison  to  believe  that 
Faliero  consciously  staked  the  remnant  of  his  life  on  the 
forlorn  hope  of  overcoming  that  awful  and  pitiless  power, 
with  any  real  hope  of  establishing  his  own  supremacy.  His 
aspect  is  rather  that  of  a  man  betrayed  by  passion,  and 
wildly  forgetful  of  all  possibility  in  his  fierce  attempt  to 
free  himself  and  get  the  upper  hand.  One  cannot  but  feel, 
in  that  passion  of  helpless  age  and  unfriendedness,  some- 
tliing  of  the  terrible  disappointment  of  one  to  whom  the 
real  situation  of  affairs  had  never  been  revealed  before; 
who  had  come  home  triumphant  to  reign  like  the  doges  of 
old,  and  only  after  the  ducal  cap  w'as  on  his  head  and  the 
palace  of  the  state  had  become  his  home,  found  out  that 
the  doge,  like  the  unconsidered  plebeian,  had  been  reduced 
to  bondage,  his  judgements  and  experience  put  aside  in 
favor  of  the  deliberations  of  a  secret  tribunal,  and  the  very 
boys,  when  they  were  nobles,  at  liberty  to  jeer  at  his 
declining  years. 

The  lesser  conspirators,  all  men  of  the  humbler  sort— 
Calendario,  the  architect,  who  was  then  at  work  upon  the 
palace,  a  number  of  seamen,  and  other  little-known  persons 
— were  hung,  not  like  greater*criminals,  beheaded  between 
the  columns  but  strung  up,  a  horrible  fringe  along  the  side 
of  the  palazzo,  beginning  at  the  two  red  pillars  now  forming 
part  of  the  loggia,  then  apparently  surporting  the  arches 
over  a  window  from  which  the  doge  was  accustomed  to  be- 
hold the  performances  in  the  Piazza.  The  fate  of  Faliero 
himself  is  too  generally  known   to  demand  description. 


NK4R  THE  SAJITI  APOBTOU. 


To  f  (tee  page  no. 


THE  MAKEllS  OF  VKNIGK.  Ul 

Calmed  by  the  tragic  touch  of  fate,  the  doge  bore  all  the 
humilations  of  his  doom  with  dignity,  and  was  beheaded 
at  the  head  of  tlie  stairs  where  he  had  sworn  i\\Q promissione 
on  first  assuming  tlie  office  of  doge.  (Not  however,  it  need 
hardly  be  said,  at  the  head  of  the  Giants'  Staircase,  wliich 
was  not  then  in  being.)  What  a  contrast  from  that  trium- 
phant day  wlien  probably  be  felt  that  his  reward  liad  come 
to  him  after  the  long  and  faithful  service  of  years  ! 

Death  stills  disappointment  as  well  as  rage  :  and  Faliero 
is  said  to  have  acknowledged  the  justice  of  his  sentence. 
He  had  never  made  any  attempt  to  justifiy  or  defend 
himself,  but  frankly  and  at  once  avowed  his  guilt,  and 
made  no  attempt  to  escape  from  its  penalties. 

His  body  was  conveyed  privately  to  the  church  of  SS. 
Giovanni  and  Paolo,  tlie  great  *'Zanipolo"  with  which  all 
visitors  to  Venice  are  so  familar,  and  was  buried  in  secrecy 
and  silence  in  the  atrio  of  a  little  chapel  behind  the  great 
church  ;  where  no  doubt  for  centuries  the  pavement  was 
worn  by  many  feet  with  little  thought  of  who  lay  below. 
Even  frorn  that  refuge  in  the  course  of  these  centuries  his 
bones  have  been  driven  forth  ;  but  his  name  remains  in 
that  corner  of  the  hall  of  the  Great  Council  which  every 
body  has  seen  or  heard  of,  and  where,  with  a  certain 
dramatic  affectation,  the  painter-historians  have  painted  a 
black  veil  across  the  vacant  place.  "This  is  the  place  of 
Marino  Faliero,  beheaded  for  his  crimes/'  is  all  the  record 
left  of  the  doge  disgraced. 

Was  it  a  crime  ?  The  question  is  one  which  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  discuss  with  any  certainty.  That  Faliero  desired 
to  establish,  as  so  many  had  done  in  other  cities,  an  inde- 
pendent despotism  in  Venice,  seems  entirely  unproved.  It 
was  the  prevailing  fear,  the  one  suggestion  which  alarmed 
everybody,  and  made  sentiment  unanimous.  But  one  of 
the  special  points  which  are  recorded  by  the  chroniclers  as 
working  in  him  to  madness,  was  that  he  was  senzaparentado, 
without  any  backing  of  relationship  or  allies — sonless,  with 
no  one  to  come  after  him.  How  little  likely,  then,  was 
an  old  man  to  embark  on  such  a  desperate  venture  for  self- 
aggrandizement  merely  !    He  had,  indeed,  a  nephew  who 


1 12  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

was  involved  in  his  fate,  but  apparently  not  so  deeply  as 
to  expose  him  to  the  last  penalty  of  the  law.  The  inci- 
dent altogether  points  more  to  a  sudden  outbreak  of  the 
rage  and  disappointment  of  an  old  public  servant  coming 
back  from  his  weary  labors  for  the  state,  in  triumph  and 
satisfaction  to  what  seemed  the  supreme  reward  :  and  find- 
ing himself  no  more  than  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  remorse- 
less masters,  subject  to  the  scoffs  of  the  younger  generation 
— supreme  in  no  sense  of  the  word,  and  with  his  eyes  opened 
by  his  own  suffering,  perceiving  for  the  first  time  what 
justice  there  was  in  the  oft-repeated  protest  of  the  people, 
and  how  they  and  he  alike  were  crushed  under  the  iron 
heel  of  that  oligarchy  to  which  tlie  power  of  the  people  and 
that  of  the  prince  was  equally  obnoxious.  Tiie  chroniclers 
of  his  time  were  so  much  at  a  loss  to  find  any  reason  for 
such  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  a  man  non  abbirando  alcum 
propinquo  tliat  they  agree  in  attributing  it  to  diabolical  in- 
spiration. It  was  more  probably  that  fury  which  springs 
from  a  sense  of  wrong,  which  the  sight  of  the  wrongs  of 
others  raised  to  frenzy,  and  that  intolerable  impatience  of 
the  impotent  which  is  more  rash  in  its  hopelessness  than 
the  greatest  hardihood.  He  could  not  but  die  for  it ;  but 
there  seems  no  more  reason  to  characterize  this  impossible 
attempt  as  deliberate  treason  than  to  give  the  same  name 
to  many  an  alliance  formed  between  prince  and  people  in 
other  regions — the  king  and  commons  of  our  early  Stuarts 
for  one — against  the  intolerable  exactions  and  cruelty  of  an 
aristocracy, too  powerful  to  be  faced  by  either  alone. 

Francesco  Foscari  was  a  more  innocent  sufferer,  and 
his  story  is  a  most  pathetic  and  moving  tale.  Seventy  years 
had  elapsed  since  the  dethronement  and  execution  of 
Faliero,  the  fifteenth  century  was  in  its  first  quarter,  and 
all  the  complications  and  crimes  of  that  wonderful  period 
were  in  full  operation  when  the  old  Doge  To*nmaso  Mo- 
cenigo  on  his  death -bed  reviewed  the  probable  competitors 
for  his  office,  and  warned  the  republic  specially  against 
Foscari.  The  others  were  all  men  da  bene,  but  Foscari  was 
proud  and  deceitful,  grasping  and  prodigal,  and  if  they 
elected  him  they  would  have  nothing  but  wars.     He  was  at 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


113 


the  same  time,  gravely  adds  one  of  the  electors  in  the  severe 
contest  for  his  election,  a  man  with  a  large  family,  and  a 
young  wife  who  added  another  to  the  number  once  a  year; 
and  therefore  was  likely  to  be  grasping  and  covetous  so 
far  as  money  was  concerned. 

Notwithstanding  these  evil  prognostications  the  reign  of 
Foscari  was  a  great  one  and  full  of  important  events.  He  ful- 
filled the  prophecy  of  his  predecessor  in  so  far  that  war  was 


ARMS  OF  FAUERO. 


perpetual  in  his  time,  and  the  republic  under  him  involved 
itself  in  all  the  contentions  which  tore  Italy  asunder,  and, 
joining  with  the  Florentines  against  the  victorious  Lord  of 
Milan,  Fillipo  Maria  Visconti,  and  having  the  good  for- 
tune to  secure  Carmagnola  for  its  general,  became  in  its 
turn  aggressive,  and  conquered  town  after  town,  losing, 
retaking,  and  in  one  or  two  instances  securing  permanently 
the  sovereignty  of  great  historic  cities.  Tlie  story  of  the 
great  soldiers  of  fortune,  which  is  to  a  large  extent  the 


114  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

story  of  the  time,  will  be  told  in  another  chapter,  and  we 
need  not  attempt  to  discover  wliat  was  the  part  of  the 
doge  in  the  tragedy  of  Oarmagnola. 

From  the  limitations  of  the  prince's  power  which  we 
have  indicated  it  will  however  be  evident  enough  that 
neither  in  making  war  nor  in  the  remorseless  punishment 
of  treachery,  whether  real  or  supposed,  could  the  responsi- 
bility rest  with  the  doge,  who  could  scarcely  be  called  even 
the  most  important  member  of  the  courts  over  which  he 
presided.  It  is  not  until  the  end  of  his  brilliant  career 
that  Francesco  Foscari  separates  himself  from  the  roll  of 
his  peers  in  that  tragic  distinction  of  great  suffering  which 
impresses  an  image  upon  the  popular  memory  more  deeply 
than  the  greatest  deeds  can  do.  Notwithstanding  the  ref- 
erence quoted  above  to  the  alarming  increase  of  his  family, 
there  was  left  within  a  few  years,  of  his  five  sons,  but  one, 
Jacopo,  who  was  no  soldier  nor  statesman,  but  an  elegant 
young  man  of  his  time,  full  of  all  the  finery,  both  external 
and  internal,  of  the  Eenaissance,  a  Greek  scholar  and  col- 
lector of  manuscripts,  a  dilettante  and  leader  of  the  golden 
youth  of  Venice,  who  were  no  longer  as  in  the  stout  days 
of  the  republic  trained  to  encounter  the  clang  of  arms  and 
the  uncertainties  of  the  sea.  The  battles  of  Terra  Firma 
were  conducted  by  mercenaries,  under  generals  who  made 
of  war  a  costly  and  long-drawn-out  game  ;  and  the  young 
nobles  of  the  day  haunted  the  Broglio  under  the  arches  of 
the  palazzo,  or  schemed  and  chattered  in  the  ante-cham- 
bers, or  spread  their  gay  plumes  to  the  sun  in  festas  and 
endless  parties  of  pleasure.  When  Jacopo  Foscari  was 
married  the  splendor  of  his  marriage  feast  was  such  that 
even  the  gravest  of  historians,  amid  all  the  crowding  inci- 
dents of  the  time,  pauses  to  describe  the  wedding  proces- 
sion. A  bridge  was  thrown  across  the  canal  opposite  the 
Foscari  Palace,  over  which  passed  a  hundred  splendid 
young  cavaliers  on  horseback,  making  such  a  show  as  must 
have  held  all  Venice  breathless,  caracoling  cautiously  over 
the  temporary  pathway  not  adapted  for  such  passengers, 
and  making  their  way,  one  does  not  quite  understand  how, 
clanging  and  sliding  along  the  stony  ways,  up  and  down 


TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  115 

the  steps  of  the  bridges  to  the  Piazza,  where  a  tournament 
was  held  in  honor  of  the  occasion.  They  were  all  in  the 
finest  of  clothes,  velvets  and  satins  and  cloth  of  gold,  with 
wonderful  calzey  one  leg  white  and  the  other  red,  and  vari- 
ous braveries  more  fine  than  had  ever  been  seen  before. 
The  bride  went  in  all  her  splendor,  silver  brocade  and  jew- 
els sparkling  in  the  sun,  in  a  beautiful  and  graceful  pro- 
cession of  boats  to  San  Marco.  She  was  a  Contarini,  a 
neighbor  from  one  of  the  great  palaces  on  the  same  side. 
The  palace  of  tiie  Foscari  as  it  now  stands  in  the  turn  of 
the  canal  ascending  toward  the  Rialto,  had  just  been  re- 
built by  Doge  Francesco  in  its  present  form,  and  was  the 
center  of  all  these  festivities,  the  house  of  the  bride  being 
near,  in  the  neighborhood  of  San  Barnaba.  No  doubt  the 
hearts  of  the  Foscari  and  all  their  retainers  must  have  been 
uplifted  by  the  glories  of  a  festa  more  splendid  than  had 
ever  been  given  in  Venice  on  such  an  occasion. 

But  this  brilliant  sky  soon  clouded  over.  Only  three 
years  after  Jacopo  fell  under  suspicion  of  having  taken 
bribes  to  promote  the  interests  of  various  suitors,  and  to 
have  obtained  offices  and  pensions  for  them  per  hroglio : 
that  is  to  say  in  the  endless  schemes,  consultations,  ex- 
changes, and  social  conspiracies  of  the  general  meeting- 
place,  the  Broglio,  a  name  which  stood  for  all  the  jobbing 
and  backstairs  influences  which  flourish  not  less  in  repub- 
lics than  in  despotisms.  Against  this  offense  when  found 
out  the  laws  were  very  severe,  and  Jacopo  was  sentenced  to 
banishment  to  Naples  where  he  was  to  present  himself 
daily  to  the  representative  of  the  republic  there — a  curious 
kind  of  penalty  according  to  our  present  ideas.  Jacopo 
however  fled  to  Trieste,  where,  happily  for  himself,  he  fell 
ill,  and  after  some  months  was  allowed  to  change  his  place 
of  exile  to  Treviso,  and  finally  on  a  pathetic  appeal  from 
the  doge  was  pardoned  and  allowed  to  return  to  Venice. 

Three  years  afterward  however  a  fatal  event  occurred, 
the  assassination  of  one  of  the  Council  of  Ten  who  had  con- 
demned Jacopo,  Ermolao  Donato,  who  was  stabbed  as  he 
left  the  palace  after  one  of  its  meetings.  The  evidence 
which   connected   Jacopo  with  this  murder  seems  of  the 


116  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

slightest.  One  of  his  servants,  a  certain  Olivieri,  met  on 
the  road  to  Mestre  almost  immediately  after  one  of  the 
house  of  Gritti,  and  being  asked  *•' what  news"  replied  by 
an  account  of  this  assassination,  a  fact  which  was  barely 
possible  he  could  have  heard  of  by  common  report  before 
he  left  Venice.  This  was  considered  sufficient  to  justify 
the  man^s  arrest  and  examination  by  torture,  which  made 
him  confess  everything,  Sanudo  tells  us.  Jacopo,  too, 
was  exposed  to  this  method  of  extorting  the  truth,  but 
*'  because  of  his  bodily  weakness,  and  of  some  words  of  i?i- 
cantation  employed  by  him,  the  truth  could  not  be  obtained 
from  his  mouth,  as  he  only  murmured  between  his  teeth 
certain  unintelligible  words  when  undergoing  the  torture 
of  the  rack."  In  these  circumstances  he  had  a  mild  sen- 
tence and  was  banished  to  the  island  of  Candia.  Here  the 
exile,  separated  from  all  he  loved  and  from  all  the  refine- 
ments of  the  life  he  loved,  was  not  long  at  rest.  He  took, 
according  to  one  account,  a  singular  and  complicated 
method  of  further  incriminating  himself  and  thus  procur- 
ing his  return  to  Venice,  if  even  to  fresh  examination  and 
torture — by  writing  a  letter  to  the  Duke  of  Milan,  against 
whom  the  republic  had  fought  so  long,  asking  his  interces- 
sion with  the  signoria,  a  letter  which  he  never  intended  to 
reach  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  but  only  to  in- 
duce the  jealous  council  to  whom  it  was  artfully  betrayed, 
to  recall  him  for  further  question  :  which  at  least  in  the 
middle  of  whatever  sufferings  would  give  his  impatient 
heart  a  sigiit  of  those  from  whom  he  had  been  separated. 
That  it  should  have  been  possible  even  to  invent  such  a 
story  of  him  conveys  a  kind  of  revelation  of  the  foolish, 
hot-headed  yet  tender-hearted  being,  vainly  struggling 
among  natures  so  much  too  strong  for  him — which  sheds 
the  light  of  many  another  domestic  tragedy  upon  this. 

The  matter  would  seem  however  to  have  been  more  seri- 
ous, though  Romanin's  best  investigations  bring  but  very 
scanty  proof  of  the  graver  accusation  brought  against  the 
banished  man  :  which  was  that  of  an  attempt  on  Jacopo's 
part  to  gain  his  freedom  by  means  of  the  sultan  and  the 
Genoese,  the  enemies  of  the  republic.     The  sole  document 


TEW  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  117 

given  in  proof  of  this  is  a  letter  written  by  the  council  to 
tiie  governor  of  Candia,  in  which  the  account  of  the 
attempt,  given  in  his  own  communication  to  them,  is  re- 
peated in  detail,  of  itself  a  somewhat  doubtful  proceeding. 
To  say  "  You  told  us  so  and  so,''  is  seldom  received  as  in- 
dependent proof  of  alleged  facts.  There  are,  however^ 
letters  in  cipher  referred  to,  which  may  have  given  authen- 
tication to  these  accusations.  Komanin,  however,  is  so 
manifestly  anxious  to  justify  the  authorities  of  Venice  and 
to  sweep  away  the  romance  which  he  declares  to  liave  gath- 
ered about  these  terrible  incidents,  that  the  reader  can 
scarcely  avoid  a  certain  reaction  of  suspicion  against  the 
too  great  warmth  of  the  defense.  Some  personal  touches 
may  no  doubt  have  been  added  by  adverse  historians  to 
heighten  the  picture.  But  it  would  be  wiser  for  even  the 
patriotic  Venetian  to  admit  that,  at  least  three  times  in 
that  cruel  century — in  the  case  of  the  Carrari  murdered  in 
their  prison,  in  that  of  Carmagnola  beguiled  into  the  cell 
from  which  he  came  out  only  to  die,  and  in  that  of  the 
unfortunate  Foscari — that  remorseless  and  all-powerful 
Council  of  Ten,  responsible  to  no  man,  without  any  safe- 
guard even  of  publicity,  who  ^vere  too  much  feared  to  be 
resisted  and  all  whose  proceedings  were  wrapped  in  seem- 
ing impenetrability,  stands  beyond  the  possibility  of  de- 
fense. There  are  few  historians  who  do  not  find  it  neces- 
sary to  acknowledge  at  some  points  that  the  most  perfect 
of  human  governments  has  failed  :  but  this  the  Vene- 
tian enthusiast — and  all  Venetians  are  enthusiasts — is  ex- 
tremely reluctant  to  do. 

Poor  Jacopo,  with  his  weak  mind  and  his  weak  body,  and 
the  lightness  of  nature  which  both  friends  and  foes  admitted, 
perhaps  rejoicing  in  the  success  of  his  stratagem,  perhaps 
troubled  in  the  consciousness  of  guilt,  but  yet  with  a  sort  of 
foolish  happiness  anyhow  in  coming  home,  and  hoping,  as 
Buch  sanguine  people  do,  in  some  happy  chance,  that  might 
make  all  right,  was  brought  back  in  custody  of  one  of  the 
Ten,  a  Loredano,  tlie  enemy  of  his  house,  who  had  been 
sent  to  fetch  him.  It  would  seem  that  when  the  unfortune 
prisoner  was  brought  before  this  awful  tribunal,  he  con- 


118  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

fessed  everything,  de  piano ^  says  Sanndo,  spontmieamente, 
adds  Romanin,  probably  forgetting  the  horrible  torture- 
chamber  next  door,  which  Jacopo  had  too  good  reason  to 
remember,  and  to  avoid  which,  this  easy-going  and  light- 
minded  sinner,  intent  only  upon  seeing  once  again  those 
whom  he  loved,  would  be  ready  enough  to  say  whatever 
their  illustrious  worships  pleased.  The  stern  Loredano 
would  have  had  him  beheaded  between  the  columns  ;  but 
even  the  Ten  and  their  coadjutors  were  not  severe  enough 
for  that ;  and  his  sentence  was  only  after  all  to  be  re-trans- 
ported to  Candia  and  to  spend  a  year  in  prison  there — a 
sentence  which  makes  any  real  and  dangerous  conspiracy 
on  his  part  very  unlikely.  When  the  sentence  was  given, 
his  prayer — to  make  which  he  had,  as  some  say,  thus  risked 
his  head — that  he  might  see  his  family  was  laid  before  the 
court.  The  doge  and  all  other  relations  had  been  during 
the  proceedings  against  him  excluded,  according  to  the  law, 
from  the  sittings  of  the  Council  ;  so  that  the  statement 
that  he  was  sentenced  by  his  father  is  pure  romance.  His 
petition  was  granted,  and  father  and  mother,  wife,  and 
children  were  permitted  to  visit  the  unfortunate.  When 
the  moment  of  farewell  came,  it  was  not  in  his  prison,  but 
in  the  apartments  of  the  doge,  that  the  last  meeting  took 
place.  Poor  Jacopo,  always  light-minded,  never  able  ap- 
parently to  persuade  himself  that  all  this  miser}^  was  in 
earnest,  and  could  not  be  put  aside  by  the  exertions  of 
somebody,  made  yet  one  more  appeal  to  his  father  in  the 
midst  of  the  sobs  and  kisses  of  the  unhappy  family. 
'•'Father,  I  beseech  you  make  them  let  me  go  home,''  he 
said,  to  the  poor  old  doge,  who  knew  too  well  how  little  he 
could  do  to  help  or  succor.  ^^ Padre,  vi  prego  procure  per 
mi  die  ritorni  a  casa  mia  ;  "  as  if  he  had  been  a  schoolboy 
caught  in  some  trifling  offense,  with  that  invincible  igno- 
rance of  the  true  meaning  of  things  which  the  Catholic 
Church  with  fine  human  instinct  acknowledges  as  a  ground 
of  salvation.  But  it  is  not  an  argument  which  tells  with 
men.  ''Jacopo,  go,  obey  the  will  of  the  country,  and  try 
no  more,"  said  the  doge,  with  the  simplicity  of  despair. 
No  romance  is  needed  to  enchance  the  pathos  of  this 
scene. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  119 

When  the  exile  had  departed  pity  would  seem  to  have 
touched  tlie  heiirts  of  various  spectators,  and  by  tlieir  ex- 
ertions, six  months  later  his  pardon  was  obtained.  But 
too  late.  Before  the  news  could  reach  him  the  unhappy 
Jacopo  had  gone  beyond  the  reach  of  all  human  recall. 

The  aged  doge,  the  father  of  this  unfortunate  young  man, 
liad  been  the  head  of  the  Venetian  state  through  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  and  splendid  periods  of  its  history.  He  had 
been  always  at  war,  as  his  predecessor  had  prophesied  ;  but 
his  wars  had  been  often  victorious  for  the  republic,  and  had 
added  greatly,  for  the  time  at  least,  to  her  territories  and 
dominion.  Whether  these  acquisitions  were  of  any  real 
advantage  to  Venice  is  another  question.  They  involved  a 
constant  expenditure  of  money  such  as  is  ruinous  to  most 
states,  but  the  glory  and  the  triumph  were  always  delight- 
ful to  her.  Foscari  had  held  the  place  of  a  great  prince  in 
the  estimation  of  the  world,  and  his  life  had  been  princely 
at  home  in  every  way  that  can  affect  the  imagination  and 
stimulate  the  pride  of  a  nation  ;  he  had  received  the 
greatest  personages  in  Christendom,  the  emperors  of  the 
east  and  of  the  west,  and  entertained  them  royally  to  the 
gratification  and  pride  of  all  Venice;  he  had  beautified  the 
city  with  new  buildings  and  more  commodious  streets,  he 
had  made  feasts  and  pageants  more  magnificent  than  ever 
had  been  seen  before.  But  for  the  last  dozen  years  of  this 
large,  princely,  and  splendid  life  a  cloud  had  come  over  all 
its  glory  and  prosperity.  There  are  no  lack  of  parallels  to 
give  the  interested  spectator  an  understanding  of  what  a 
son  such  as  Jacopo,  so  reckless,  so  light-minded,  so  incapable 
of  any  serious  conception  of  the  meaning  of  life  and  its 
risks  and  responsibilities,  yet  with  so  many  claims  in  his 
facile,  affectionate  nature  upon  those  who  loved  him — must 
have  been  to  the  father,  proud  of  his  many  gifts,  bowed 
down  by  his  follies,  watching  his  erratic  course  with  sicken- 
ing terrors,  angry,  tender,  indignant,  pitiful,  concealing  his 
own  disappointment  and  misery  in  order  to  protect  and 
excuse  and  defend  the  son  who  was  breaking  his  heart. 
The  spectacle  is  always  a  sad  one,  but  never  rare  :  and 
the  anguish  of  the  father's  silent  watch,  never  knowing 


120  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

what  folly  might  come  next,  acutely  feeling  the  fault  and 
every  reproof  of  the  fault,  his  pride  humbled,  his  name  dis- 
graced, his  every  hope  failing,  but  never  the  love  that 
underlies  all — is  one  of  the  deepest  which  can  affect 
humanity.  Foscari  was  over  seventy  when  tliis  ordeal 
began.  Perhaps  he  had  foreseen  it  even  earlier  :  but  when 
he  made  that  most  splendid  of  feasts  at  his  son^s  bridal,  and 
saw  him  established  with  his  young  wife  in  the  magnificent 
new  palace,  with  his  books  and  his  manuscripts,  his  chival- 
rous and  courtly  companions,  his  Greek,  the  crown  of  ac- 
complishment and  culture  in  his  time,  who  could  suppose 
that  Jacopo  would  so  soon  be  a  fugitive  and  an  exile  ?  The 
years  between  seventy  and  eighty  are  not  those  m  which  a 
a  man  is  most  apt  to  brave  the  effects  of  prolonged  anxiety 
and  sorrow,  and  Foscari  was  eighty-four  when,  after  the 
many  vicissitudes  of  this  melancholy  story,  he  bade  Jacopo 
go  and  bear  his  sentence  and  try  no  more  to  elude  it. 
When  the  news  came  six  months  after  that  his  only  son  was 
dead — dead  far  away  and  alone,  among  strangers,  just 
when  a  troubled  hope  had  arisen  that  he  might  come  back, 
and  be  wiser  another  time — the  courage  of  the  old  doge 
broke  down.  He  could  no  longer  give  his  mind  to  the 
affairs  of  the  state,  or  sit,  a  venerable  image  of  sorrow,  pa- 
tience, and  self-control,  at  the  head  of  the  court  which 
had  persecuted  and  hunted  to  the  death  his  foolish,  be- 
loved boy.  One  can  imagine  how  the  very  touch  of  the 
red  robe  of  Loredano  brushing  by  would  burn  to  the  heart 
of  the  old  man  who  could  not  avenge  himself,  but  in  whom 
even  the  stillness  of  his  age  and  the  habit  of  self-command 
could  not  take  away  the  recollection  that  there  stood  the 
man  who  had  voted  death  between  the  columns  for  poor 
Jacopo's  follies !  Who  could  wonder  that  he  forbore  to 
attend  their  meetings,  and  that  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
heart  it  seemed  not  worth  while  to  go  on  appearing  to  ful- 
fill an  office,  all  the  real  power  of  which  had  been  taken 
from  his  hands  ? 

Thereupon  there  got  up  a  low  fierce  murmur  among  the 
Ten;  not  too  rapidly  developed.  They  waited  a  month  or 
two,  marking  all  his  absences  and  slackness  before  gathering 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  121 

together  to  talk  of  matters  secretissime  concerning  Messer 
lo  Doge:  they  said  to  each  other  that  it  was  a  great  incon- 
venience to  the  state  to  have  a  doge  incapable  of  attending 
the  councils  and  looking  after  the  affairs  of  the  repnblic; 
and  that  it  was  full  time  they  should  have  a  zonta  or  junta 
of  nobles  to  help  them  to  discuss  the  question.  The  law 
had  been  tliat  in  case  of  the  absence  (which  often  happened 
on  state  affairs)  or  illness  of  the  doge,  a  vice-doge  should 
be  elected  in  his  place;  but  of  this  regulation  no  heed  was 
taken,  and  the  issue  of  their  deliberations  was  that  a  deputa- 
tion should  be  sent  to  the  doge  to  desire  him  ^^spontan- 
eamente  e  libramente'^  to  resign  his  office.  Foscari  had 
more  than  once  in  his  long  tenure  of  office  proposed  to  re- 
tire, but  his  attempt  at  resignation  had  never  been  received 
by  the  Council.  It  is  one  thing  to  make  such  an  offer,  and 
quite  another  to  have  it  proposed  from  outside;  and  when 
the  deputation  suddenly  appeared  in  the  sorrowful  chamber 
where  the  old  man  sat  retired,  he  refused  to  give  them  any 
immediate  answer.  For  one  thing  it  was  not  their  busi- 
ness to  make  such  a  demand,  the  law  requiring  that  the 
Consiglio  Maggiore  sliould  be  consulted,  and  should  at 
least  agree  in,  if  not  originate,  so  important  an  act.  But 
the  Ten  had  perhaps  gone  too  far  to  draw  back,  and  when 
the  deputation  returned  without  a  definite  reply,  the  cere- 
monial of  waiting  for  the  spontaneous  and  free  dimissiou  of 
the  disgraced  prince  was  thrown  aside,  and  an  intimation 
was  made  to  him  tliat  his  resignation  was  a  matter  of  ne- 
cessity, and  that  if  within  eight  days  he  had  not  left  the 
palace  his  property  would  be  confiscated.  When  this  arbi- 
trary message  was  conveyed  to  him  the  old  man  attempted 
no  further  resistance.  His  ducal  ring  was  drawn  from  his 
finger  and  broken  to  pieces  in  the  presence  of  the  depu- 
tation who  had  brought  him  these  final  orders,  headed  by 
his  enemy  Loredano — not,  says  the  apologetic  historian, 
because  he  was  Foscari's  enemy,  which  was  a  cruelty  the 
noble  Ten  were  incapable  of,  but  because  he  was,  after  Fos- 
cari himself,  the  finest  orator  of  the  republic  and  most 
likely  to  put  tilings  in  a  good  light!  The  ducal  cap  with 
its  circlet  of  gold,  the  historical  Corno,  was  taken  from  his 


122  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

tremulous  old  liead,  and  a  promise  extracted  that  lie  would 
at  once  leave  the  palace.  The  following  incident  is  too 
touching  not  to  be  given  in  the  words  quoted  by  Romanin 
from  the  unpublished  chronicles  of  Delfino.  As  the  pro- 
cession of  deputies  filed  away,  the  discrowned  doge  saw  one 
of  tliem,  Jacopo  Memmo,  one  of  the  heads  of  the  Forty, 
look  at  him  with  sympathetic  and  compassionate  eyes.  The 
old  man's  lieart,  no  doubt,  was  full,  and  a  longing  for 
human  fellowship  must  have  been  in  him  still.  He  called 
the  man  who  gave  him  that  friendly  look  and  took  him  by 
the  hand. 

*  **  Whose  son  art  thou?"  (It  is  the  Venetian  vernacu- 
lar that  is  used,  not  ceremonious  Italian,  '*  Di  chi  es  tu 
fio?")  I  answered,  '^I  am  the  son  of  Marin  Memmo.''  To 
which  the  doge — **He  is  my  dear  friend;  tell  him  from  me 
that  it  would  be  sweet  to  me  if  he  would  come  and  pay  me 
a  visit,  and  go  with  me  in  my  bark  for  a  little  pleasure. 
We  might  go  and  visit  the  monasteries." 

It  is  difficult  to  read  this  simple  narrative  without  a  sym- 
pathetic tear.  Despoiled  of  the  vestments  of  his  office 
which  he  had  worn  for  thirty-four  years,  amid  all  the  mag- 
nificence of  one  of  the  richest  and  most  splendid  states  in 
the  world,  the  old  man  pauses  with  a  tremulous  smile 
more  sad  than  weeping,  to  make  his  last  gracious  invitation, 
the  habit  of  his  past  sovereignty  exercised  once  more,  at 
once  with  sorrowful  humor  and  that  wistful  turning  to 
old  friends  which  so  often  comes  with  trouble.  If  it  had 
ever  been  accomplished,  what  a  touching  party  of  pleasure! 
the  two  old  men  in  their  iarco  going  forth  a  solazzo,  mak- 
ing their  way  across  the  shining  waters  to  San  Giorgio, 
perhaps  as  far  as  San  Servolo|  if  the  weather  were  fine: 
for  it  was  October,  and  no  time  to  be  lost  before  the  win- 
ter set  in  for  two  old  companions,  eighty  and  more.  But 
that  voyage  of  pleasure  never  was  made. 

The  same  day  the  doge  left   the   palace   where   he  had 

*  *'  Di  chi  es  tu  fio  ?  Rispose,  lo  son  figlio  di  Messere  Marin  Mem- 
mo. Al  chi  il  doxe,  L'e  mio  caro  compagno;  dilli  da  mia  parte  che 
avero  caro  ch'el  mi  vegna  a  visitar,  accio  el  vegna  con  mi  in  barca  a 
solazzo  ;  andaremo  a  visitare  i  monastieri." 


TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  123 

spent  so  many  years  of  glory  and  so  many  of  sorrow,  accom- 
panied by  his  old  brother  Marco,  and  followed  sadly  by  his 
household  and  relations.  ''  Serenissimo/'  said  Marco 
Foscari,  *'it  is  better  to  go  to  the  boat  by  the  other  stair, 
which  is  covered."  But  the  old  doge  held  on  in  the  direc- 
tion he  had  first  taken.  ''  I  will  go  down  by  the  same 
stair  which  I  came  up  when  I  was  made  doge,"  he  said, 
much  as  Faliero  had  done.  And  then  the  mournful  pro- 
cession rode  away  along  tiie  front  of  the  palace,  past  all  the 
boats  that  lay  round  the  dogana,  between  the  lines  of  great 
houses  on  either  side  of  the  canal,  to  the  new  shining  palace 
scarcely  faded  from  its  first  splendor  where  Jacopo  sixteen 
years  before  had  taken  his  bride.  The  house  that  has  seen 
so  many  genenitions  since  and  vicissitudes  of  life  still  stands 
there  at  its  corner,  tlie  water  sweeping  round  two  sides  of 
it,  and  tlie  old  gateway,  merlato,  in  its  ancient  bravery, 
on  the  smaller  canal  beliind. 

This  was  on  the  24th  October,  1357.  The  new  doge 
was  elected  on  tlie  31st,  and  on  the  1st  November  Francesco 
Foscari  died.  Tlie  common  story  goes  that  the  sound  of 
the  bell  which  announced  the  entry  of  his  successor  was 
the  old  man's  final  death  blow,  but  it  is  unnecessary  to  add 
this  somewhat  coarse  touch  of  popular  effect  to  the  pathetic 
story.  The  few  days  which  elapsed  between  the  two  events 
were  not  too  much  for  the  operation  of  dying,  which  is  sel- 
dom accomplislied  in  a  moment.  When  the  new  prince  and 
his  court  assembled  in  San  Marco  on  All  Saints'  Day  to 
mass,  Andrea  Donato,  the  old  doge's  son-in-law,  came  in 
and  announced,  no  doubt  with  a  certain  solemn  satisfaction 
and  consciousness  of  putting  tliese  conspii-ators  forever  in 
the  wrong,  the  death  of  Foscari.  The  councilors  who  had 
pursued  him  to  his  end  looked  at  each  other  mute,  with 
eyes,  let  us  hope,  full  of  remorse  and  shame. 

And  he  had  a  magnificent  funeral,  which  is  always  so 
easy  to  bestow.  T.'ie  Corno  was  taken  again  from  the  head 
of  the  new  doge  to  be  put  on  the  dead  brows  of  the  old,  and 
he  lay  in  state  in  the  hall  from  which  he  had  been  expelled 
a  week  before,  and  was  carried,  with  every  magnificence 
the  republic  could  give,  to  the  noble  church  of   the  Frari, 


124 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


witli  tapers  burning  all  the  way,  and  every  particular  of 
solemn  pomp  that  custom  authorized.  There  belies  under 
a  weight  of  sculptured  marble,  bis  sufferings  all  over  for 
five  hundred  years  and  more;  but  never  the  story  of  his 
greatness,  his  wrongs,  and  sorrows,  which  last  gave  him 
such  claims  upoa  the  recollection  of  mankind  as  no  mag- 
nificence nor  triumph  can  bestow. 


ARMS  OF  FOSCARI. 


IHE  MAKERh  OF  VENICE. 


125 


DEPARTURE  OF  MARCO  POLO:    FROM  AN  ILLUMINATED 
MANUSCRIPT  IN  THE  BODLEL^. 


PART  II. 
BY  SEA  AND  BY  LAND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  TRAVELERS  :  NICCOLO,  MATTEO,  AND  MARCO  POLO. 

In  THE  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century,  two  brothers  of 
the  Venetian  family  of  Polo,  established  for  a  long  time  in 
the  parish  of  San  Giovanni  Grisostomo,  carrying  on  their 
business  in  the  midst  of  all  the  tumults  of  the  times  as  if 
there  had  been  nothing  but  steady  and  peaceful  commerce 
in  the  world,  were  at  the  head  of  a  mercantile  house  at 


126  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Constantinople,  probably  the  branch  establishment  of  some 
great  counting-house  at  Venice.  These  seem  prosiac  terms 
to  use  in  a  story  so  full  of  adventure  and  romance;  yet  no 
doubt  they  represent.,  as  adequately  as  the  changed  aspect 
of  mercantile  life  allows,  the  condition  of  affairs  under 
which  Niccolo  and  MatteoPolo  exercised  their  vocation  in 
the  great  Eastern  capital  of  the  world.  Many  Venetian 
merchants  had  established  their  warehouses  and  pursued  the 
operations  of  trade  in  Constantinople  in  the  security  which 
the  repeated  treaties  and  covenants  frequently  referred  to 
in  previous  chapters  had  gained  for  them,  and  which,  under 
whatsoever  risks  of  convulsion  and  rebellion,  they  had 
held  since  the  days  when  first  a  Venetian  Bailo — an  officer 
more  powerful  than  a  consul,  with  something  like  the 
rights  and  privileges  of  a  governor — was  settled  in  Con- 
stantinople. But  the  ordinary  risks  were  much  increased 
at  the  time  when  the  Latin  dynasty  was  drawing  near  its 
last  moments,  and  Paleologus  was  thundering  at  the  gates. 
The  Venetians  were  on  the  side  of  the  falling  race:  their 
constant  rivals  the  Genoese  had  taken  that  of  the  rising; 
and  no  doubt  the  position  was  irksome  as  well  as  dangerous 
to  those  who  had  been  the  favored  nation,  and  once  the 
conquerors  and  all  potent-rulers  of  the  great  capital  of  the 
East.  Many  of  the  bolder  spirits  would  no  doubt  be  urged 
to  take  an  active  part  in  the  struggle  which  was  going  on; 
but  its  effect  upon  Niccolo  and  Matteo  Polo  was  different. 
The  unsatisfactory  state  of  affairs  prompted  them  to  carry 
their  merchandise  further  East,  where  they  had,  it  is  sup- 
posed, already  the  standing-ground  of  a  small  establish- 
ment at  Soldachia,  on  the  Crimean  peninsula.  Perhaps, 
however,  it  is  going  too  far  to  suppose  that  the  commotions 
in  Constantinople,  and  not  some  previously  arranged  ex- 
pedition with  milder  motives,  determined  the  period  of 
their  departure.     At  all  events  the  dates  coincide. 

The  two  brothers  set  out  in  l$i60,  when  the  conflict  was 
at  its  height,  and  all  the  horrors  of  siege  and  sack  were 
near  at  hand.  They  left  behind  them,  it  would  appear,  an 
elder  brother  still  at  the  head  of  the  family  counting-house 
at  Constantinople — and  taking  with  them  an  easily  carried 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  1^7 

stock  of  jewels,  went  forth  upon  the  unknown  but 
hugely  inhabited  world  of  Central  Asia,  full,  as  they 
were  aware,  of  wonders  of  primitive  manufacture,  carpets 
and  rich  stuffs,  ivory  and  spices,  furs  and  leather.  The 
vast  dim  empires  of  the  East,  where  struggles  and  conquests 
had  been  going  on,  more  tremendous  than  all  the  wars  of 
Europe,  though  under  the  veil  of  distance  and  barbarism 
uncomprehended  by  the  civilized  world,  had  been  vaguely 
revealed  by  the  messengers  of  Pope  Innocent  IV.,  and  had 
helped  the  Crusaders  at  various  points  against  their  enemies 
the  Sa  racens.  But  neither  they  nor  their  countries  were 
otherwise  known  when  these  two  merchants  set  out.  They 
plunged  into  the  unknown  from  Soldachia,  crossing  the 
Sea  of  Azof,  or  traveling  along  its  -eastern  shores,  and 
working  their  way  slowly  onward,  sometimes  lingering  in 
the  tents  of  a  great  chief,  sometimes  arrested  by  a  bloody 
war  which  closed  all  passage,  made  their  way  at  last  to 
Bokhara,  where  all  further  progress  seemed  at  an  end,  and 
where  they  remained  three  years,  unable  either  to  advance 
or  to  go  back.  '  Here,  however,  they  had  the  good  fortune 
to  be  picked  up  by  certain  envoys  on  their  way  to  the  court 
of  ''the  Great  Khan,  the  lord  of  all  the  Tartars  in  the 
world" — sent  by  the  victorious  prince  who  had  become 
master  of  the  Levant,  to  tint  distant  and  mysterious  poten- 
tate. These  ambassadors,  astonished  to  see  the  Frankish 
travelers  so  far  out  of  the  usual  track,  invited  the  brothers 
to  join  them,  assuring  them  that  the  Great  Khan 
had  never  seen  any  Latins,  and  would  give  them  an  eager 
welcome.  With  this  escort  the  two  Venetians  traveled  far 
into  the  depths  of  the  unknown  land  until  they  reached 
the  city  of  Kublai  Khan,  that  great  prince  shrouded 
in  distance  and  mystery,  whose  name  has  been  appropriated 
by  poets  and  dreamers;  but  who  takes  immediate  form  and 
shape  in  the  brief  and  abrupt  narrative  of  his  visitors,  as  a 
most  courteous  and  gentle  human  being,  full  of  endlesss 
curiosity  and  interest  in  all  the  wonders  which  these  sons 
or  Western  civilization  could  tell  him.  The  Great  Khan 
received  them  with  the  most  royal  courtesy,  and  questioned 
them  closely  about  their   laws  and   rulers,  and   still  more 


128  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

about  their  religion,  which  seems  to  have  excited  the  imagi- 
nation and  pleased  the  judgment  of  this  calmly  impartial 
inquirer.  No  doubt  the  manners  and  demeanor  of  the 
Venetians,  devout  Catholics  in  all  the  fervor  habitual  to 
their  age  and  city,  recommended  their  faith.  So  much  in- 
terested indeed  was  the  Tartar  prince  that  he  determined 
to  seek  for  himself  and  his  people  more  authoritative  teaching 
and  to  send  his  merchant  visitors  back  with  a  petition  to 
this  purpose  addressed  to  the  pope.  No  more  important 
mission  was  ever  entrusted  to  any  ambassadors.  They 
were  commissioned  to  ask  from  the  head  of  the  Church  a 
hundred  missionaries  to  convert  the  Tartar  multitudes  to 
Christianity.  These  were  to  be  wise  persons  acquainted 
with  the  **  Seven  Arts,"  well  qualified  to  discuss  and  con- 
vince all  men  by  force  of  reason  that  the  idols  whom  they 
worshiped  in  their  houses  were  things  of  the  devil,  and 
that  the  Christian  law  was  better  than  those,  all  evil  and 
false,  which  they  followed.  And  above  all,  adds  the  simple 
narrative,  '*he  charged  them  to  bring  back  with  them  some 
of  the  oil  from  the  lamp  which  burns  before  the  sepulcher 
of  Christ  at  Jerusalem." 

The  letters  which  were  to  be  the  credentials  of  this  em- 
bassy were  drawn  out  *Mn  tlie  Turkish  language,"  in  all 
likelihood  by  the  Venetians  themselres  :  and  a  Tartar  chief, 
"  one  of  his  barons,"  was  commissioned  by  the  Great  Khan 
to  accompany  them  :  he,  however,  soon  shrank  from  the 
fatigues  and  perils  of  the  journey.  The  Poll  set  out  carry- 
ing with  them  a  royal  warrant,  inscribed  on  a  tablet  of 
gold,  commanding  all  men  wherever  they  passed  to  serve 
and  help  them  on  their  way.  Notwithstanding  this,  it 
took  them  three  years  of  travel,  painful  and  complicated, 
before  they  reached  Acre  on  their  homeward — or  rather 
Eomeward — journey.  There  they  heard,  to  their  consterna- 
rion,  that  the  pope  was  dead.  This  was  terrible  news  for 
the  ambassadors,  who  doubtless  felt  the  full  importance  of 
their  mission.  In  their  trouble  they  appealed  to  the  high- 
est ecclesiastic  near,  the  pontifical  legate  in  Egypt,  who 
heard  their  story  with  great  interest,  but  pointed  out  to 
them  that  the  only  thing  they  could  do  was  to  wait  till  a 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  129 

new  pope  was  elected.  This  suggestion  seems  to  have  sat- 
istied  tlieir  judgment,  although  the  conflict  over  that  elec- 
tion must  have  tried  any  but  a  very  robust  faith.  The  Poll 
then  concluded — an  idea  wliich  does  not  seem  to  have 
struck  them  before — that  having  thus  certain  time  vacant 
on  their  hands,  they  might  as  well  employ  it  by  going  to  see 
tlieir  family  in  Venice.  They  had  quitted  their  home 
apparently  some  fifteen  years  before,  Niccolo  having  left 
his  wife  there,  who  gave  birth  to  a  son  after  his  departure 
and  subsequently  died  ;  Colonel  Yule  suggests  that  the 
wife  was  dead  before  Niccolo  left  Venice,  which  would 
have  given  a  certain  explanation  of  the  slight  interest  he 
showed  in  revisiting  his  native  city.  But  at  all  events  the 
brothers  went  home  :  and  Niccolo  found  his  child,  whether 
born  in  his  absence  or  left  behind  an  infant,  grown  into  a 
sprightly  and  interesting  boy,  no  doubt  a  delightful  dis- 
covery. They  had  abuudant  time  to  renew  their  acquaint- 
ance with  all  their  ancient  friends  and  associations,  for 
months  went  by  and  still  no  pope  was  elected,  nor  does 
there  seem  to  have  been  any  ecclesiastical  authority  to 
whom  they  could  deliver  their  letters.  Probably,  in  that 
time,  any  enthusiasm  the  two  traders  may  have  had  for  the 
great  work  of  converting  those  wild  and  wonderful  regions 
of  the  East  had  died  away.  Indeed,  the  project  does  not 
seem  to  have  moved  any  one  save  to  a  passing  wonder  ;  and 
all  ecclesiastical  enterprises  were  apparently  suspended 
while  conclave  after  conclave  assembled  and  no  result  was 
attained. 

At  length  the  brothers  began  to  tire  of  inaction,  and  to 
remember  that  through  all  those  years  of  silence  Kublai 
Khan  was  looking  for  them,  wondering  perhaps  what  de- 
layed their  coming,  perhaps  believing  that  their  return 
home  had  driven  all  their  promises  from  their  memory, 
and  that  they  had  forgotten  him  and  his  evangelical  de- 
sires. Stirred  by  this  thought,  they  determined  at  last  to 
return  to  their  prince,  and  setting  out,  accompanied  by 
young  Marco,  Niccolo's  son,  they  went  to  Acre,  where 
they  betook  themselves  once  more  to  the  pious  legate,  Te- 
baldo  di   Piacenza,  whom   they   had  consulted  on  their 


130  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

arrival.  They  first  asked  his  leave  to  go  to  Jerusalem  to 
fetch  the  oil  from  the  holy  lamp,  the  only  one  of  the  Great 
Khan^s  commissions  which  it  seemed  possible  to  carry  out; 
and  then,  with  some  fear  apparently  that  their  word  miglit 
not  be  believed,  asked  him  to  give  them  letters,  certifying 
that  they  had  done  their  best  to  fulfill  their  errand,  and  had 
failed  only  in  consequence  of  the  strange  fact  there  was  no 
pope  to  whom  their  letters  could  be  delivered.  Provided 
with  these  testimonials  they  started  on  their  long  journey, 
but  had  only  got  as  far  as  Lagos,  on  the  coast  of  the  then 
kingdom  of  Armenia,  which  was  their  point  of  entrance 
upon  the  wild  and  immense  plains  which  they  had  to  trav- 
erse, when  the  news  followed  them  that  the  pope  was  a  tlast 
elected,  and  was  no  other  than  their  friend,  the  legate  Te- 
baldo.  A  messenger,  requesting  their  return  to  Acre,  soon 
followed,  and  the  brothers  and  young  Marco  returned  with 
new  hopes  of  a  successful  issue  to  their  mission.  But  the 
new  pope,  Gregory  X.,  though  he  received  them  with 
honor  and  great  friendship,  had  not  apparently  a  hundred 
wise  men  to  give  them,  nor  the  means  of  sending  out  a  lit- 
tle Christian  army  to  the  conquest  of  heathenism.  All 
that  he  could  do  for  them  was  to  send  with  them  two  broth- 
ers of  the  order  of  S.  J) omuuc  f rati  prediaotori  to  do  what 
they  could  toward  that  vast  work.  But  when  the  Domini- 
cans heard  that  war  had  broken  out  in  Armenia,  and  that 
they  had  to  ewcounter  not  only  a  fatiguing  journey  but  all 
the  perils  of  perpetual  fighting  along  their  route,  they 
went  no  further  than  that  port  of  Lagos  beyond  w^hich  lay 
the  unknown.  The  letters  of  privilege,  indulgences,  no 
doubt,  and  grants  of  papal  favor  to  be  distributed  among 
the  Tartar  multitude,  they  transferred  hastily  to  the  sturdy 
merchants — who  were  used  to  fighting  as  to  most  other  dan- 
gerous things,  and  had  no  fear — and  ignominiously  took 
their  flight  back  to  the  accustomed  and  known. 

It  is  extraordinary,  looking  back  upon  it,  to  think  of 
the  easy  relinquishment  of  such  a  wonderful  chance  as  this 
would  seem  to  have  been.  Pope  and  priests  were  all  oc- 
cupied with  their  own  affairs.  It  was  of  more  importance 
in  their  eyes  to  quell  the  Ghibeliines  than  to  convert  and 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  131 

civilize  the  Tartars.  And  perhaps,  considering  that  even 
an  infallible  pope  is  but  a  man,  this  was  less  wonderful 
than  it  appears  :  for  Kublai  Khan  was  a  long  way  off,  and 
very  dim  and  undiscernible  in  his  unknown  steppes  and 
strange  primeval  cities — whereas  tlie  emperor  and  his 
supporters  were  close  at  hand,  and  very  sensible  thorns  in 
consecrated  flesh.  It  seems  somewhat  extraordinary  how- 
ever that  no  young  monk  or  eager  preacher  caught  fire  at 
the  suggestion  of  such  an  undertaking.  Some  fifty  years 
before  Fra  Francisco  from  Assisi,  leaving  his  new  order 
and  all  its  cares,  insisted  upon  being  sent  to  the  Soldamto 
see  whetlier  he  could  not  forestall  the  Crusaders  and  make 
all  the  world  one,  by  converting  that  noble  infidel — which 
seemed  to  him  the  straightfoward  and  simple  thing  to  do. 
If  Francis  had  but  been  there  with  his  poor  brothers, 
vowed  to  every  humiliation,  the  lovers  of  poverty  what  a 
mission  for  them! — a  crusade  of  the  finest  kind,  with 
every  augury  of  success,  though  all  the  horrors  of  the 
steppes,  wild  winters  and  blazing  summers,  and  swollen 
streams,  and  fighting  tribes  lay  in  their  way.  And  had 
the  hundred  wise  men  ever  been  gathered  together,  what  a 
pilgrinijige  for  minstrel  to  celebrate  and  story-teller  to 
write,  a  new  expedition  of  the  saints,  a  holier  Israel  in  the 
desert !  But  nothing  of  the  kind  came  about.  The  two 
papal  envoys,  who  had  been  the  first  to  throw  light  upon 
those  kingdoms  beyond  the  desert,  had  no  successors  in 
tiie  later  half  of  the  century.  And  with  only  young  Marco 
added  to  their  band,  the  merchant  brothers  returned,  per- 
haps a  little  ashamed  of  their  Christian  rulers,  perhaps 
chiefly  interested  about  the  reception  they  would  meet 
with,  and  whether  the  great  Kublai  would  still  remember 
his  luckless  ambassadors. 

The  journey  back  occupied  once  more  three  years  and  a 
half.  It  gives  us  a  strange  glimpse  into  the  long  intervals 
of  silence  habitual  to  primitive  life  to  find  that  these  mes- 
sengers, without  means  of  communicating  any  information 
of  their  movements  to  their  royal  patron,  were  more  than 
eight  years  altogether  absent  on  the  mission,  from  which 
they  returned  with  so  little  success.     In  our  own  days 


152  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

their  very  existence  would  probably  have  been  forgotten  in 
such  a  long  lapse  of  interest.  Let  us  hope  that  the  holy 
oil  from  the  sepulcher,  the  only  thing  Christianity  could 
send  to  the  inquiring  heathen,  was  safely  kept,  in  some 
precious  bottle  of  earliest  glass  from  Murano,  or  polished 
stone  less  brittle  than  glass,  through  all  the  dangers  of  the 
journey. 

Thus  the  Poli  disappeared  again  into  the  unknown  for 
many  additional  years.  Letters  were  not  rife  anywhere  in 
those  days,  and  for  them,  lost  out  of  the  range  of  civiliza- 
tion, though  in  the  midst  of  another  full  and  busy  world, 
with  another  civilization,  art,  and  philosophy  of  its  own, 
there  was  no  possibility  of  any  communication  with  Venice 
or  distant  friends.  It  is  evident  that  they  sat  very  loose  to 
Venice,  having  perhaps  less  personal  acquaintance  with 
the  city  than  most  of  her  merchant  adventurers.  Niccolo 
and  Matteo  must  have  gone  to  Constantinople  while  still 
young — and  Marco  was  but  fifteen  when  he  left  the  lagoons. 
They  had  apparently  no  ties  of  family  tenderness  to  call 
them  back,  and  custom  and  familiarity  had  made  the 
strange  world  around,  and  the  half  savage  tribes,  and  the 
primitive  court  with  its  barbaric  magnificence,  pleasant 
and  interesting  to  them.  It  was  nearly  a  quarter  of  a 
century  before  they  appeared  out  of  the  unknown  again. 

By  that  time  the  Casa  Polo  in  San  Grisostomo  had  ceased 
to  think  of  its  absent  members.  In  all  likelihood  they  had 
no  very  near  relations  left.  Father  and  mother  would  be 
dead  long  ago  :  the  elder  brother  lived  and  died  in  Con- 
stantinople :  and  there  was  no  one  who  looked  with  any  warm 
expectation  for  the  arrival  of  the  strangers.  When  there 
suddenly  appeared  at  the  gate  of  the  great  family  house 
full  of  cousins  and  kinsmen  one  evening  in  the  year  1295, 
about  twenty-four  years  after  their  departure,  three  wild 
and  travel -worn  figures,  in  coats  of  coarse  homespun  like 
those  worn  by  the  Tartars,  the  sheep-skin  collars  mingling 
with  the  long  looks  and  beards  of  the  wearers,  their  com- 
plexions dark  with  exposure,  their  half -forgotten  mother 
tongue  a  little  uncertain  on  their  lips — who  could  believe 
that  these  were  Venetian  gentlemen,  members  of  an  im- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE 


133 


portant  family  in  the  city  which  liad  forgotten  them  ? 
The  three  unknown  personages  arrived  suddenly,  without 
any  warning,  at  their  ancestral  home.  One  can  imagine 
the  commotion  in  the  courtyard,  the  curious  gazers  who 
would  come  out  to  the  door,  the  heads  that  would  gather 


DOORWAY,   MARCO  POLO'S  HOUSE. 


at  every  window,  when,  it  became  known  through  the 
house  that  these  wild  strangers  claimed  to  belong  to  it, 
to  be  in  some  degree  its  masters,  the  long  disappeared 
kinsmen  whose  portion  perhaps  by  this  time  had  fallen 
into  hands  very  unwilling  to  let  it  go.  The  doorway 
which  still  exists  in   the   Corte  della   Sabbionera,  in   the 


134  THE  MAKERS  OF  VEmCE. 

depths  of  the  cool  quadrangle,  with  its  arch  of  Byzantine 
work,  and  the  cross  above,  which  every  visitor  in  Venice 
may  still  see  when  he  will,  behind  San  Grisostoino,  is  as 
tradition  declares,  the  very  door  at  which  the  travelers 
knocked  and  parleyed.  The  house  was  then — according  to 
the  most  authentic  account  we  have,  that  of  Ramusio — 
U7i  hellissimo  e  molto  alto  palazzo.  Absolute  authenticity 
it  is  perhaps  impossible  to  claim  for  the  story.  But  it  was 
told  to  Ramusio,  who  flourished  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
by  an  old  man,  a  distinguished  citizen  who,  and  whose 
race,  had  been  established  for  generations  in  the  same 
parish  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  Casa  Polo,  and 
who  had  heard  it  from  his  predecessors  there,  a  very- 
trustworthy  source  of  information.  The  family  was 
evidently  well  off  and  important,  and,  in  all  probability, 
noble.  •'  In  those  days,"  says  Colonel  Yule,  making  with 
all  his  learning  a  mistake  for  once,  *^  the  demarcation 
between  patrician  and  non-patrician  at  Venice,  where  all 
classes  snared  in  commerce,  all  were  (generally  speaking) 
of  one  race,  and  where  there  were  neither  castles,  domains, 
nor  trains  of  horsemen,  formed  no  very  wide  gulf." 
This  is  an  astounding  statement  to  make  in  the  age  of 
Bajamonte's  great  conspiracy :  but  as  Marco  Polo  is 
always  spoken  of  as  noble,  no  doubt  his  family  belonged 
to  the  privileged  class. 

The  heads  of  the  house  gathered  to  the  door  to  question 
the  strange  applicants,  **for,  seeing  them  so  transfigured  in 
countenance  and  disordered  in  dress,  they  could  not  believe 
that  tliese  were  those  of  the  Ca'  Polo  who  had  been  believed 
dead  for  so  many  and  so  many  years."  The  strangers  had 
great  trouble  even  to  make  it  understood  who  they  claimed 
to  be.  '^  But  at  last  these  three  gentlemen  conceived  the 
plan  of  making  a  bargain  that  in  a  certain  time  they  should 
so  act  as  to  recover  their  identity  and  the  recognition  of 
their  relatives,  and  honor  from  all  the  city."  The  expedient 
they  adopted  again  reads  like  a  scene  out  of  the  "  Arabian 
Nights."  They  invited  all  their  relatives  to  a  great  ban- 
quet which  was  prepared  with  much  magnificence  ^'  in  the 
same  house,"  says  the   story-teller  :  so  that   it   is  evident 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  135 

tliey  must  already  have  gained  a  certain  credence  from 
their  own  nearest  relations.  When  tlie  hour  fixed  for  tlie 
banquet  came,  the  following  extraordinary  scene  oc- 
curred : 


"  The  three  came  out  of  their  chamber  dressed  in  long  robes  of 
crimson  satin,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time,  which  touched 
the  ground.  And  when  water  had  been  offered  for  their  hands,  they 
placed  their  guests  at  table,  and  then  taking  off  their  satin  robes  put 
on  rich  damask  of  the  same  color,  ordering  in  the  meanwhile  that  the 
first  should  be  divided  among  the  servants.  Then  after  eating  some- 
thing (no  doubt  a  first  course),  they  rose  from  table  and  again  changed 
their  dress,  putting  on  crimson  velvet,  and  giving  as  before  the  dam- 
ask robes  to  the  servants,  and  at  the  end  of  the  repast  they  did  the 
same  with  the  velvet,  putting  on  garments  of  ordinary  cloth  such  as 
their  guests  wore.  The  persons  invited  were  struck  dumb  with 
astonishment  at  these  proceedings.  And  when  the  servants  had  left 
the  hall,  Messer  Marco,  the  youngest,  rising  from  the  table,  went 
into  his  chamber  and  brought  out  the  three  coarse  cloth  surcoats  in 
which  they  had  come  home.  And  immediately  the  three  began  with 
sharp  knives  to  cut  open  the  seams,  and  tear  off  the  lining,  upon 
which  there  poured  forth  a  great  quantity  of  precious  stones,  rubies, 
sapphires,  carbuncles,  diamonds,  and  emeralds,  which  had  been 
sewed  into  each  coat  with  great  care,  so  that  nobody  could  have  sus- 
pected that  anything  was  there.  For  on  parting  with  the  Great  Khan 
they  had  changed  all  the  wealth  he  bestowed  upon  them  into  precious 
stones,  knowing  certainly  if  they  had  done  otherwise  they  never  could 
by  so  long  and  difficult  a  road  have  brought  their  property  home  in 
safety.  The  exhibition  of  such  an  extraordinary  and  infinite  treas- 
ure of  jewels  and  precious  stones  which  covered  the  table,  once  more 
filled  all  present  with  such  astonishment  that  they  were  dumb  and 
almost  beside  themselves  with  surprise  :  and  they  at  once  recognized 
these  honored  and  venerated  gentlemen  of  the  Ca'  Polo,  whom  at 
first  they  had  doubted,  and  received  them  with  the  greatest  honor 
and  reverence.  And  when  the  story  was  spread  abroad  in  Venice,  the 
entire  city,  both  nobles  and  people  rushed  to  the  house  to  embrace 
them,  and  to  make  every  demonstration  of  loving  kindness  and  re- 
spect that  could  be  imagined.  And  Messer  Matteo,  who  was  the 
eldest,  was  created  one  of  the  most  honored  magistrates  of  the  city, 
and  all  the  youth  of  Venice  resorted  to  the  house  to  visit  Messer  Marco, 
who  was  most  humane  and  gracious,  and  to  put  questions  to  him  about 
Cathay  and  the  Great  Khan,  to  which  he  made  answer  with  so  much 
benignity  and  courtesy  that  they  all  remained  hisdebtors.  And  because 
in  the  continued  repetition  of  his  story  of  the  grandeur  of  the  Great 
Khan  he  stated  the  revenues  of  that  prince  to  be  from  ten  to  fifteen 


136  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

millions  in  gold,  and  counted  all  the  other  wealth  of  the  country 
always  in  millions,  the  surname  was  given  him  of  Marco  Millione. 
which  may  be  seen  noted  in  the  public  books  of  the  republic.  And 
the  courtyard  of  his  house  from  that  time  to  this  has  been  vulgarly 
called  the  Corte  Millione." 


It  is  scarcely  possible  to  imagine  that  the  narrator  of  the 
above  .wonderful  story  was  not  inspired  by  the  keenest 
humorous  view  of  human  nature  and  perception  of  the 
character  of  liis  countrymen,  when  he  so  gravely  describes 
the  effectual  arguments  which  lay  in  the  gioie  preciosissime, 
the  diamonds  and  sapphires  which  his  travelers  had  sewed 
up  in  their  old  clothes,  and  which  according  to  all  the  laws 
of  logic  were  exactly  fitted  to  procure  their  recognition 
"  as  honored  and  venerated  gentlemen  of  the  Ca'  Polo." 
The  scene  is  of  a  kind  which  has  always  found  great  ac-j 
ceptance  in  primitive  romance  :  the  cutting  asunder  of  the 
laden  garments,  the  ripping  up  of  their  seams,  the  drawing 
forth  of  one  precious  little  parcel  after  another  amid  the 
wonder  and  exclamations  of  the  gazing  spectators,  are  all 
familiar  incidents  in  traditionary  story.  But  in  the  pres- 
ent case  this  was  quite  a  reasonable  and  natural  manner  of 
conveying  the  accumuhitions  of  a  long  period  through  all 
tlie  perils  of  a  three  years'  journey  from  far  Cathay  ;  and 
there  is  nothing  at  all  unlikely  in  the  miraculous  story, 
which  no  doubt  would  make  a  great  impression  upon  the 
crowded  surrounding  population,  and  linger,  an  oft- 
repeated  tale,  in  the  alleys  about  San  Giovanni  Grisostomo 
and  along  the  Eio,  where  everybody  knew  the  discreet  and 
sensible  family  which  had  the  wit  to  recognize  and  fall 
upon  the  necks  of  their  kinsmen,  as  soon  as  they  knew 
how  rich  they  were.  The  other  results  that  ensued — the 
rush  of  golden  youth  to  see  and  visit  Marco,  who,  though 
no  longer  young,  was  the  young  man  of  the  party,  and 
their  questions,  and  the  jeer  of  the  new  mocking  title 
Marco  Millione — follow  the  romance  with  natural  human 
incredulity  and  satire  and  laughter.  It  is  true,  and  proved 
by  at  least  one  public  document,  that  the  gibe  grew  into 
serious  use,  and  that  even  the  gravest  citizens  forgot  after 


THE  MAKERS  OP   VENICE.  137 

a  time  that  Marco  of  the  Millions  was  not  the  traveler's 
natural  and  sober  name.  Tliere  was  at  least  one  otiier 
house  of  the  Poli  in  Venice,  and  pernaps  there  were  other 
Marcos  from  whom  it  was  well  to  distinguish  him  of  San 
Grisostomo. 

It  would  seem  clear  enough,  however,  from  this,  that 
these  travelers'  tales  met  with  the  fate  that  so  often  attends 
the  marvelous  narratives  of  an  explorer.  Marco's  Great 
Khan,  far  away  in  the  distance  as  of  another  world,  the 
harbarian  purple  and  gold  of  Kublai's  court,  the  great 
cities  out  of  all  mortal  ken,  as  the  young  men  in  their  mirth 
supposed,  the  incredible  wonders  that  peopled  that  remote 
and  teeming  darkness,  which  the  primitive  imagination 
could  not  believe  in  asforming  part  of  its  own  narrow  little 
universe — must  have  kept  one  generation  at  least  in  amuse- 
ment. No  doubt  the  sunbrowned  traveler  had  all  that 
desire  to  instruct  and  surprise  his  hearers  which  came 
natural  to  one  who  knew  so  much  more  tlian  they,  and 
was  capable  of  being  endlessly  drawn  out  by  any  group  of 
young  idlers  who  might  seek  his  company.  They  would 
thread  their  way  through  the  labyrinth  of  narrow  passages 
with  all  their  mediaeval  bravery,  flashing  along  in  parti- 
colored hose  and  gold-embroidered  doublets  on  their  way 
from  the  Broglio  to  get  a  laugh  out  of  Messer  Marco — who 
was  always  so  ready  to  commit  himself  to  some  new 
prodigy. 

But  after  awhile  the  laugh  died  out  in  the  grave  troubles 
that  assailed  the  republic.  The  most  dreadful  war  that  had 
ever  arisen  between  Venice  and  Genoa  had  raged  for  some 
time,  through  various  vicissitudes,  when  the  city  at  last 
determined  to  send  out  such  an  expedition  as  should  at  once 
overwhelm  all  rivalry.  This  undertaking  stirred  every 
energy  among  the  population,  and  both  men  and  money 
poured  in  for  the  service  of  the  commonwealth.  There  may 
not  be  any  authentic  proof  of  Colonel  Yule's  suggestion, 
that  Marco  Polo  fitted  out,  or  partially  fitted  out,  one  of  the 
boats,  and  mounted  his  own  flag  at  the  mastliead,  when  it 
went  into  action.  But  the  family  were  assessed  at  the 
value  of  one  or  more  galleys,   and  he  was  certainly  a 


138  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

volunteer  in  the  fleet,  a  defender  of  his  country  in  the 
terrible  warfare  which  was  draining  all  her  resources.  The 
battle  of  Curzola  took  place  in  September,  1298,  and  it 
ended  in  a  complete  and  disastrous  defeat  for  the  Venetians. 
Of  the  ninety-seven  galleys  which  sailed  so  bravely  out  of 
Venice,  only  seventeen  miserable  wrecks  found  refuge  in 
the  shelter  of  the  lagoons,  and  the  admiral  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  survivors,  men  shamed  and  miserable,  were 
carried  prisoners  to  Genoa  with  every  demonstration  of  joy 
and  triumph.  The  admiral,  as  has  already  been  said,  was 
chained  to  his  own  mast  in  barbarous  exultation,  but 
managed  to  escape  from  the  triumph  of  iiis  enemies  by 
dashing  his  head  against  the  timber,  and  dying  thus  before 
they  reached  port. 

Marco  Polo  was  among  the  rank  and  file  who  do  not 
permit  themselves  such  luxuries.  Among  all  the  wonder- 
ful things  he  had  seen,  he  could  never  have  seen  a  sight  at 
once  so  beautiful  and  so  terrible  as  the  great  semicircle  of 
the  Bay  of  Genoa,  crowded  with  the  exultant  people,  gay 
with  every  kind  of  decoration,  and  resounding  with 
applause  and  excitement  when  the  victorious  galleys  with 
their  wretched  freight  sailed  in.  No  doubt  in  the  Tartar 
wastes  he  had  longed  many  a  time  for  intercourse  with  his 
fellows,  or  even  to  see  the  face  of  some  compatriot  or 
Christian  amid  all  the  dusky  faces  and  barbaric  customs  of 
the  countries  he  had  described.  But  now  what  a  revelation 
to  him  must  have  been  the  wild  passion  and  savage  delight 
of  those  near  neighbors  with  but  the  width  of  a  European 
peninsula  between  them,  and  so  much  hatred,  rancor,  and 
fierce  antagonism!  Probably,  however,  Marco,  having  been 
born  to  hate  the  Genoese,  was  occupied  by  none  of  these 
sentimental  reflections;  and  knowing  how  he  himself  and 
all  his  countrymen  would  have  cheered  and  shouted  had 
Doria  been  the  victim  instead  of  Dandolo,  took  his  dun- 
geon and  chains,  and  the  intoxication  of  triumph  with 
which  he  and  his  fellow  prisoners  were  received,  as  matters 
of  course. 

He  lay  for  about  a  year,  as  would  appear,  in  this  Genoese 
prison;   and  here,  probably  for  the  first  time,  his  endless 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  139 

tales  of  the  wonders  he  had  seen  and  known  first  fulfilled 
the  blessed  office  of  story-telling,  and  became  to  the  crowded 
prison  a  fountain  of  refreshment  and  new  life.  To  all  these 
unfortunate  groups,  wounded,  sick,  especially  sick  for  home, 
humiliated  and  forlorn,  with  scarcely  anything  wanting  to 
complete  the  round  of  misery,  what  a  solace  in  the  tedium 
of  the  dreary  days,  what  a  help  to  get  through  the  lingering 
time,  and  forget  their  troubles  for  a  moment,  must  have 
been  this  companion,  burned  to  a  deeper  brown  than  even 
Venetian  suns  and  seas  could  give,  whose  memory  was 
inexhaustible,  who  day  by  day  had  another  tale  to  tell, 
who  set  before  them  iiew  scenes,  new  people,  a  great,  noble 
open-hearted  monarch,  and  all  the  quaint  habits  and  modes 
of  living,  not  of  one,  but  of  a  hundred  tribes  and  nations, 
all  different,  endless,  original!  All  the  poor  expedients  to 
make  the  time  pass,  such  games  as  they  might  have,  such 
exercises  as  were  possible,  even  the  quarrels  which  must 
have  risen  to  diversify  the  flat  and  tedious  hours,  could 
bear  no  comparison  with  this  fresh  source  of  entertainment, 
the  continued  story  carried  on  from  day  to  day,  to  which 
tlie  cramped  and  weary  prisoner  might  look  forward  as  he 
stretched  his  limbs  and  opened  his  eyes  to  a  new  unwelcome 
morning.  If  any  one  among  these  prisoners  remembered 
then  the  satire  of  the  golden  youth,  the  laughing  nickname 
of  the  Millione,  he  had  learned  by  that  time  what  a  public 
benefactor  a  man  is  who  has  something  to  tell:  and  the 
traveler  who  perhaps  had  never  found  out  how  he  had  been 
laughed  at  had  thus  the  noblest  revenge. 

Among  all  these  wounded,  miserable  Venetians,  however, 
there  was  one  whose  presence  there  was  of  more  immediate 
importance  to  the  world — a  certain  Pisan,  an  older  inhabi- 
tant than  they  of  these  prisons,  a  penniless  derelict,  for- 
gotten perhaps  of  his  own  city,  with  nobody  to  buy  him 
out — Rusticiano  a  poor  poetaster,  a  rusty  brother  of  the 
pen,  who  had  written  romances  in  his  day,  and  learned  a 
little  of  the  cnift  of  authorship.  What  a  wonderful  treasure 
was  this  fountain  of  strange  story  for  a  poor  mediaeval 
literary  man  to  find  in  his  dungeon!  The  scribbler  seems  to 
have  seiaed  at  once  by  instinct  upon  the  man  who  for  once 


140  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

in  his  life  could  furnish  him  with  something  worth  telling, 
Rusticiano  saw  his  opportunity  in  a  moment,  with  an 
exultation  which  he  could  not  keep  to  himself.  It  was 
not  in  his  professional  nature  to  refrain  from  a  great  fan- 
fare and  flourish,  calling  upon  heaven  and  earth  to  listen. 
^' Signoriimperatori  e  re,  duchi,  emarchesi,  conti,  cavalieri, 
principi,  baroni/'  he  cries  out,  as  he  did  in  his  romances. 
*^  Oh,  emperors  and  kings!  oh,  dukes,  princes,  marquises, 
barons  and  cavaliers,  and  all  who  delight  in  knowing  the 
different  races  of  the  world,  and  the  variety  of  countries, 
take  this  book  and  read  it!"  Tliis  was  the  proper  way, 
according  to  all  his  rules,  to  present  himself  to  the  public. 
He  makes  his  bow  to  them  like  a  showman  in  front  of  his 
menagerie.  He  knows,  too,  tlie  language  in  which  to  catch 
the  ear  of  all  these  fine  people,  so  that  every  noble  may 
desire  to  have  a  copy  of  this  manuscript  to  cheer  his  house- 
hold in  the  lingering  winter,  or  amuse  the  poor  women  at 
their  embroidery  while  the  men  are  at  the  wars.  For, 
according  to  all  evidence,  wiiat  the  prisoner  of  Pisa  took 
down  from  the  lips  of  the  Venetian  in  the  dungeons  of 
Genoa  was  written  by  him  in  curious  antique  French, 
corrupted  a  little  by  Italian  idioms,  the  most  universal  of 
all  the  languages  of  the  western  world.  Nothing  can  be 
more  unlike  than  those  flourishes  of  Rusticiano  by  way  of 
preface,  and  the  simple  strain  of  the  unvarnished  tale  when 
Messer  Marco  himself  begins  to  speak.  And  the  circum- 
stance of  these  two  Italians  employing  another  living 
language  in  which  to  tell  their  wonderful  story  is  so  curious 
that  many  other  theories  have  been  set  forth  on  the  subject, 
though  none  which  are  accepted  by  the  best  critics  as 
worthy  of  belief.  One  of  the  earliest  of  these,  Ramusio, 
pronounces  strongly  in  favor  of  a  Latin  version.  Marco 
had  told  his  stories  over  and  over  again,  this  historian 
says,  with  such  effect  that  '^seeing  the  great  desire  that 
everybody  had  to  hear  about  Cathay  and  the  Gi'eat  Khan, 
and  being  compelled  to  begin  again  every  day,  he  was 
advised  that  it  would  be  well  to  commit  it  to  writing" — 
which  was  done  by  the  dignified  medium  of  a  Genoese 
gentleman,  who  took  the  trouble  to  procure  from  Venice  all 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  141 

the  notes  which  the  three  travelers  had  made  of  their 
journeys:  and  tlien  compiled  in  Latin,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  learned,  a  continuous  narrative.  But  the 
narrative  itself  and  everything  that  can  be  discovered  about 
it  are  wholly  opposed  to  this  theory.  There  is  not  the 
slightest  appearance  of  notes  worked  into  a  permanent 
record.  The  story  has  evidently  been  taken  down  from  the 
lips  of  a  somewhat  discursive  speaker,  with  all  the  breath 
and  air  in  it  of  oral  discourse.  *'  This  is  enough  upon  that 
matter;  now  I  will  tell  you  of  something  else."  **  Now  let 
us  leave  the  nation  of  Mosul  and  I  will  tell  you  about  the 
great  city  of  Baldoc."  So  the  tale  goes  on,  with  interrup- 
tions, with  natural  goings  back — *' But  first  I  must  tell 

you "     "Now  we  will  go  on  with  the  other."      While 

we  read  we  seem  to  sit,  one  of  the  eager  circle,  listening  to 
the  story  of  these  wonderful  unknown  places,  our  interest 
quickened  here  and  there  by  a  legend — some  illustration 
of  the  prolonged  conflict  between  heathen  and  Christian,  or 
the  story  of  some  prodigy  accomplished:  now  that  of  a 
grain  of  mustard  seed  which  the  Christians  were  defied  to 
make  into  a  tree,  now  a  curious  eastern  version  of  the 
story  of  the  Three  Magi.  These  episodes  have  all  the 
characteristics  of  the  ordinary  legend;  but  the  plain  and 
simple  story  of  what  Messer  Marco  saw  and  heard,  and 
the  ways  of  the  unknown  populations  among  whom  he 
spent  his  youth,  are  like  nothing  but  what  they  are — a 
narrative  of  facts,  with  no  attempt  to  throw  any  fictitious 
interest  or  charm  about  them.  No  doubt  the  prisoners 
liked  the  legends  best,  and  the  circle  would  draw  closer, 
and  the  looks  become  more  eager,  when  the  story  ran  of 
Prester  John  and  Genghis  Khan,  of  the  Old  Man  of  the 
Mountain,  or  of  how  the  Calif  tested  the  faith  of  the 
Christians.  When  all  this  began  to  be  committed  to  writ- 
ing, when  Rusticiano  drew  his  inkhorn,  and  pondered  his 
French,  with  a  splendor  of  learning  and  wisdom  which  no 
doubt  appeared  miraculous  to  the  spectators,  and  the  easy 
narrative  flowed  on  a  sentence  a  time,  with  a  half-a-dozen 
eager  critics  ready  no  doubt  to  remind  the  raconteur  if  he 
varied  a  word  of  the  often  told  tale,  what  an   interest  for 


142  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

that  melancholy  crowd!  How  they  must  have  peered  over 
each  other's  shoulders  to  see  the  miraculous  manuscript, 
with  a  feeling  of  pleased  complacency  as  of  a  wonderful 
thing  in  which  they  themselves  had  a  hand!  No  doubt  it 
was  cold  in  Genoa  in  those  sunless  dungeons  the  weary 
winter  through;  but  so  long  as  Messer  Marco  went  on  with 
his  stories  and  he  of  Pisa  wrote,  with  his  professional  arti- 
fices, and  his  sheet  of  vellum  on  his  knee,  what  endless  en- 
tertainment to  beguile  dull  care  away! 

The  captivity  lasted  not  more  than  a  year,  and  our 
traveler  returned  home,  to  where  the  jest  still  lingered 
about  the  man  with  the  millions,  and  no  one  mentioned  him 
without  a  smile.  He  would  not  seem  to  have  disturbed 
himself  about  this — indeed,  after  that  one  appearance  as 
a  fighting  man,  with  its  painful  consequences,  he  would 
seem  to  have  retired  to  his  home  as  a  peaceful  citizen,  and 
awoke  no  echoes  any  more.  He  might  perhaps  be  dis- 
couraged by  the  reception  his  tale  had  met  with,  even 
though  there  is  no  evidence  of  it ;  or  perhaps  that  tacit 
assent  to  a  foolish  and  wrong  popular  verdict,  which  the 
instructers  of  mankind  so  often  drop  into  with  a  certain 
indulgent  contempt  as  of  a  thing  not  worth  their  while  to 
contend  against,  was  in  his  mind,  who  knew  so  much  better 
than  his  critics.  At  all  events  it  is  evident  that  he  did 
nothing  more  to  bring  himself  to  the  notice  of  the  world. 
It  was  in  1299  that  he  returned  to  Venice — on  the  eve  of 
all  those  great  disturbances  concerning  the  serrata  of  the 
Council,  and  of  the  insurrections  which  shook  the  republic 
to  its  foundation.  But  in  all  this,  Marco  of  the  Millions 
makes  no  appearance.  He  who  had  seen  so  much,  and  to 
whom  the  great  Kublai  was  the  finest  of  imperial  images, 
most  likely  looked  on  with  an  impartiality  beyond  the  reach 
of  most  Venetians  at  the  internal  strife,  knowing  that  revo- 
lutions come  and  go,  while  the  course  of  human  life  runs 
on  much  the  same.  And  besides,  Marco  was  noble,  and 
lost  no  privilege,  probably  indeed  sympathized  with  the 
effort  to  keep  the  canaille  down. 

He  married  in  these  peaceful  years,  in  the  obscurity  of 
a  quiet  life,  and  had  three  daughters  only,  Faustina,  Bellela, 


THE  MAKElliS  OF  VENICE.  143 

and  Moretta  :  no  son  to  keep  up  tlie  tradition  of  the 
adventurous  race,  a  thing  which  happens  so  often  when  a 
family  has  come  to  its  climax  and  can  do  no  more.  He 
seems  to  have  kept  up  in  some  degree  his  commercial 
character,  since  there  is  a  record  of  a  hiw-suit  for  the  re- 
covery of  some  money  of  which  he  had  heen  defrauded  by 
an  agent.  But  only  once  does  he  appear  in  the  character 
of  an  author  responsible  for  his  own  story.  Attached  to 
two  of  the  earliest  manuscript  copies  of  his  great  book,  ono 
preserved  in  Paris  and  the  other  in  Berne,  are  MS.  notes, 
apparently  quite  authentic,  recording  the  circumstances 
under  which  he  presented  a  copy  of  the  work'to  a  noble 
French  cavalier  who  passed  through  Venice  while  in  the 
service  of  Charles  of  Valois  in  the  year  1307.  The  note  is 
as  follows : 

"This  is  the  book  of  which  my  Lord  Thiebault,  Knight  and  Lord  of 
Cepoy  (whom  may  God  assoil !),  requested  a  copy  from  Sire  Marco  Polo, 
citizen  and  resident  in  the  city  of  Venice.  And  the  said  Sire  Marco 
Polo,  being  a  very  honorable  person  of  high  character  and  report  in 
many  countries,  because  of  his  desire  that  what  he  had  seen  should  be 
heard  throughout  the  world,  and  also  for  the  honor  and  reverence  he 
bore  to  the  most  excellent  and  puissant  Prince,  my  Lord  Charles,  son 
of  the  King  of  France,  and  Count  of  Valois,  gave  and  presented  to  the 
aforesaid  Lord  of  Cepoy  the  first  copy  of  his  said  book  that  was  made 
after  he  had  written  it.  And  very  pleasing  it  was  to  him  that  his  book 
should  be  carried  to  the  noble  country  of  France  by  so  worthy  a  gentle- 
man. And  from  the  copy  which  the  said  Messire  Thiebault,  Sire  de 
Cepoy  above-named,  carried  into  France,  Messire  John,  who  was  his 
eldest  son  and  is  the  present  Sire  de  Cepoy,  had  a  copy  made  after  his 
father's  death,  and  the  first  copy  of  the  book  that  was  made  after  it 
was  brought  to  France  he  presented  to  his  very  dear  and  dread  Lord, 
Monseigneur  de  Valois  ;  and  afterward  to  his  friends  who  wished    to 

have  it This  happened  in  the  year  of  the  Incarnation  of  our 

Lord  Jesus  Christ  one  thousand  three  hundred  and  seven,  and  in  the 
month  of  August.  " 

This  gives  a  pleasant  opening  through  the  mist  of  ob- 
scurity which  had  fallen  over  the  Ca'  Polo.  Tf  Messer 
Marco  was  illustrious  enough  to  be  sought  out  by  a  young 
stranger  of  Thiebault's  rank  and  pretensions,  then  his  labors 
had  not  been  without  their  reward.  It  is  possible,  however. 


144  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

that  the  noble  visitor  might  have  been  taken  to  see  one  of 
the  amusing  personages  of  the  city,  and  with  the  keenness 
of  an  unaccustomed  eye  might  liave  found  out  for  himself 
that  Messer  Marco  of  the  Millions  was  no  braggard,  but  a 
remarkable  man  with  a  unique  history.  In  any  case,  the 
note  is  full  of  interest.  One  can  imagine  how  the  great 
traveler's  eye  and  his  heart  would  brighten  when  he  saw 
that  the  noble  Frenchman  understood  and  believed,  and 
how  he  would  turn  from  the  meaning  smile  and  mock  re- 
spect of  his  own  countrymen  to  the  intelligent  interest  of 
the  newcomer  who  could  discriminate  between  truth  and 
falsehood."  '^Et  moiiU  lui  estoit  agreaUe  quant  par  si 
preudomme  estoit  avanciez  et  portez  es  nobles  parties  de 
France  J' 

The  final  record  of  his  will  and  dying  wishes  is  the  only- 
other  document  that  belongs  to  the  history  of  Marco  Polo. 
He  made  this  will  in  January,  1323,  ''finding  myself  to 
grow  daily  weaker  through  bodily  ailment,  but  being  by 
the  grace  of  God  of  sound  mind,  and  senses  and  judgment 
unimpaired,^'  and  distributing  his  money  among  his  wife 
and  daughters  whom  he  constitutes  his  executors,  and 
various  uses  of  piety  and  charity.  He  was  at  this  time 
about  sixty-nine,  and  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  his  death 
took  place  shortly  after — at  least  that  is  the  last  we  know 
of  him.  His  father,  who  had  died  many  years  before,  had 
been  buried  in  the  atrio  of  San  Lorenzo,  where  it  is  to  be 
supposed  Messer  Marco  also  was  laid:  but  there  is  no  cer- 
tainty in  this  respect.  He  disappears  altogether  from  the 
time  his  will  is  signed,  and  all  his  earthly  duties  done. 

It  is  needless  here  to  enter  into  any  description  of  his 
travels.  Their  extent  and  the  detailed  descriptions  he 
gives  at  once  of  the  natural  features  of  the  countries,  and 
of  their  manners  and  customs,  give  them,  even  to  us,  for 
whose  instruction  so  many  generations  of  travelers  have 
labored  since,  a  remarkable  interest;  how  much  more 
to  those  to  whom  that  wonderful  new  world  was  as 
a  dream!  The  reason  why  he  observed  so  closely  and 
took  so  much  pains  to  remember  everything  he  saw 
is  very  characteristically  told   in   the   book  itself.     The 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  145 

young  Venciian  to  whom  the  Great  Khan  had  no 
doubt  been  held  np  during  the  three  years'  long  journey 
as  an  object  of  boundless  veneration,  whose  favor  was 
the  sum  of  existence  to  his  fatiier  and  uncle,  observed 
that  potentate  and  his  ways  when  they  reached  their  desti- 
nation with  the  usual  keen  inspection  of  youth,  lie  per- 
ceived the  secret  of  the  charm  which  had  made  these  Latin 
merchants  so  dear  to  Prince  Kublai,  in  the  warm  and  eager 
interest  which  he  took  in  all  the  stories  that  could  be  told 
him  of  other  countries  and  their  government,  and  the 
habits  of  their  people.  The  young  man  remarked  that 
when  ambassadors  to  the  neighboring  powers  came  back 
after  discharging  their  misiion,  the  prince  listened  with 
impatience  to  the  reports  which  contained  a  mere  account 
of  their  several  errands  and  nothing  else,  saying  that  it 
would  have  pleased  him  more  to  have  heard  news  of  all  they 
had  seen,  and  a  description  of  unknown  or  strange  customs 
which  had  come  under  their  observation.  Young  Marco 
laid  the  lesson  to  heart,  and  when  he  was  sent  upon  an  em- 
bassy, as  soon  happened,  kept  his  eyes  about  him,  and  told 
the  monarch  on  his  return  all  the  strange  things  he  had 
seen,  and  whatever  he  heard  that  was  marvelous  or  remark- 
able; so  that  all  who  heard  him  wondered,  and  said,  '*If  this 
youth  lives  he  will  be  a  man  of  great  sense  and  worth."  It 
is  evident  throughout  the  book  that  the  Venetians  were  no 
mere  mercenaries,  but  had  a  profound  regard  and  admir- 
ation for  the  great,  liberal,  friendly  monarch,  who  had 
received  them  so  kindly,  and  lent  so  ready  an  ear  to  all 
they  could  tell,  and  that  young  Marco  had  grown  np  in 
real  affection  and  sympathy  for  his  new  master.  Indeed, 
as  we  read,  we  recognize,  through  all  the  strangeness  and 
distance,  a  countenance  and  person  entirely  human  in  this 
half  savage  Tartar,  and  find  him  no  mysterious  voluptuary 
like  the  Kublai  Khan  of  the  poet,  but  a  cordial,  genial, 
friendly  human  being,  glad  to  know  about  all  his  fellow 
creatures,  whoever  they  might  be,  taking  the  most  whole- 
some friendly  interest  in  everything,  ready  to  learn  and 
eager  to  know.  One  wonders  what  he  thought  of  the  slack- 
ness of  the  Christian  powers  who  would   send   no   men   tc 


146  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

teach  him  the  way  of  salvation:  of  the  shrinking  of  the 
teachers  themselves  who  were  afraid  to  dare  the  dangers  of 
the  way:  and  what  of  that  talisman  they  had  brought  him, 
the  oil  from  the  holy  lamp,  which  he  had  received  with  joy. 
It  was  to  please  him  that  Marco  made  -his  observations, 
noting  everything — or  at  least,  no  doubt  the  young  am- 
bassador believed  that  his  sole  object  was  to  please  his  mas- 
ter when  he  followed  the  characteristic  impulses  of  his 
own  inquisitive  and  observant  intelligence. 

Since  his  day,  the  world  then  unknown  has  opened  up 
its  secrets  to  many  travelers,  the  geographer,  the  explorer, 
and  those  whose  study  lies  among  the  differences  of  race  and 
the  varieties  of  humanity.  The  curious,  the  wise,  the 
missionary  and  the  merchant,  every  kind  of  visitor  has 
essayed  in  his  turn  to  lift  the  veil  from  those  vast  spaces 
and  populations  and  to  show  us  the  boundless  multitudes 
and  endless  deserts,  which  lay,  so  to  speak,  outside  the 
world  for  centuries,  unknown  to  this  active  atom  of  a 
Europe,  which  has  monopolized  civilization  for  itself ;  but 
none  of  them,  with  all  the  light  of  centuries  of  accumu- 
lated knowledge,  have  been  able  to  give  Marco  Polo  the 
lie.  Colonel  Yule,  his  last  exponent  in  England,  is  no 
enthusiast  for  Marco.  He  speaks,  we  think  without  reason, 
of  his  "hammering  reiteration,"  his  lack  of  humor,  and 
many  other  characteristic  nineteenth  century  objections. 
But  when  all  is  done,  here  is  the  estimate  which  this  im- 
partial critic  makes  of  him  and  his  work: 


"  Surely  Marco's  real,  indisputable,  and  in  fheir  kind  unique, 
claims  to  glory  may  suffice.  He  was  tlie  first  traveler  to  trace  a  route 
across  the  whole  longitude  of  Asia,  naming  and  describing  kingdom 
after  kingdom  which  he  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes,  the  deserts  of 
Persia,  the  flowering  plateaux  and  wild  gorges  of  Beloochistan,  the 
jade-bearing  rivers  of  Khotan,  the  Mongolian  steppes,  cradle  of  the 
power  which  had  so  lately  threatened  to  swallow  up  Christendon, 
the  new  and  brilliant  court  that  had  been  established  at  Cambaluc  :  the 
first  traveler  to  reveal  China  in  all  its  wealth  and  vastness,  its 
mighty  ruins,  its  huge  cities,  its  rich  manufactures,  its  swarming 
population  ;  the  inconceivably  vast  fleets  that  quickened  its  seas  and 
its  inland  waters  ;  to  tell  us  of  the  nations  on   its  borders,  with  all 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  147 

their  eccentricities  of  manners  and  worship  :  of  Thibet  with  its 
sordid  devotees,  of  Burniah  with  its  golden  pagodas  and  their  tink- 
ling crowns,  of  Caos,  of  Siani,  of  Cochin-China,  of  Japan,  the  East- 
ern Thule,  with  its  rosy  pearls  and  golden-roofed  palaces  :  the  first 
to  speak  of  that  museum  of  beauty  and  wonder,  the  Indian 
Archipelago,  source  of  the  aromatics  then  so  prized  and  whose 
origin  was  so  dark  ;  of  Java,  the  pearl  of  islands  :  of  Sumatra,  with 
its  many  kings,  its  strange  costly  products,  and  its  cannibal  races  ; 
of  the  naked  savage  of  Nicobar  and  Andaman  ;  of  Ceylon,  the  isle 
of  gems,  with  its  sacred  mountain  and  its  tomb  of  Adam  ;  of  India  the 
great,  not  as  a  dreamland  of  Alexandrian  fables,  but  as  a  country 
seen  and  partially  explored,  with  its  virtuous  Brahmins,  its  obscure 
ascetics,  its  diamonds  and  the  strange  tales  of  their  acquistion,  its 
seabeds  of  pearls,  and  its  powerful  sun  ;  the  first  in  mediaeval  times 
to  give  any  distinct  account  of  the  secluded  Christian  empire  of 
Abyssinia,  and  the  semi-Christian  isle  of  Socotra  ;  to  speak,  though 
indeed  dimly,  of  Zanzibar  with  its  negroes  and  its  ivory,  and  of  the 
vast  and  distant  Madagascar  bordering  on  that  dark  ocean  of  the 
South,  and  in  a  remotely  opposite  region,  of  Siberia  and  the  Arctic 
Ocean,  of  dog  sledges,  white  bears,  and  reindeer-riding  Tunguses." 

We  get  to  tlie  end  of  this  sentence  with  a  gasp  of  ex- 
hausted breath.  But  though  it  may  not  be  an  example  of 
style  (in  a  writer  who  has  no  patience  with  our  Marco^s 
plainer  diction)  it  is  a  wonderful  resume  of  one  man's 
work,  and  that  a  Venetian  trader  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury. His  talk  of  the  wonders  he  had  seen,  which  amused 
and  pleased  the  lord  of  all  the  Tartars  in  the  world,  and 
charmed  the  dreary  hours  of  the  prisoners  in  the  dungeons 
of  Genoa,  an  audience  so  different,  is  here  for  us  as  it 
came  from  his  lips  in  what  we  may  well  believe  to  be  the 
self-same  words,  with  the  same  breaks  and  interruptions, 
the  pauses  and  digressions  which  are  all  so  natural.  The 
story  is  so  wonderful  in  its  simplicity  of  spoken  discourse 
that  it  is  scarcely  surprising  to  know  that  the  Venetian 
gallants  jeered  at  the  Man  of  the  Millions  ;  but  it  is  still 
full  of  interest,  a  book  not  to  be  despised  should  it  ever  be 
the  reader's  fate  to  be  shut  up  in  any  dungeon,  or  in  a 
desolate  island,  or  other  enforced  seculsion.  And  not 
all  the  flood  of  light  that  has  been  poured  since  upon 
these  unknown  lands,  not  the  progress  of  science  or  evolu- 
tion, or  any  great  development   of   the  last  six   hundred 


148 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


years,  lias  proved  Messer  Marco  to  have  been   less  than 
trustworthy  and  true. 

Meanwhile  the  archway  in  the  Corte  della  Sabbionera, 
in  its  crowded  corner  behind  San  Grisostomo,  is  all  that 
remains  in  Venice  of  Marco  Polo.  He  has  his  (imaginary) 
bust  in  the  loggia  of  the  ducal  palace,  along  with  many 
another  man  who  has  less  right  to  such  a  distinction  :  but 
even  his  grave  is  unknown.  He  lies  probably  at  San 
Lorenzo  among  the  nameless  bones  of  his  fathers,  but  even 
the  monument  his  son  erected  to  Niccolo  has  long  ago  dis- 
appeared. The  Casa  Polo  is  no  more:  the  name  extinct, 
the  house  burned  down  except  that  corner  of  it.  It  would 
be  pleasant  to  see  restored  to  the  locality  at  least  the  name 
of  the  Corte  Millione,  in  remembrance  of  all  the  wonders 
he  told,  and  of  the  gibe  of  the  laughing  youths  to  whom 
his  marvelous  tales  were  first  unfolded  :  and  thus  to  have 
Kublai  Khan's  millions  once  more  associated  with  his 
faithful  ambassador's  name. 


INSCRIPTION  ON  PILLAR  IN  ARSENAL,   THE  FIRST  ERECTED. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  149 


CHAPTER  II. 

A   POPULAR   HERO. 

About  seventy  years  after  the  events  above  recorded, 
in  the  later  half  of  the  fourteenth  century,  there  occurred 
a  crisis  in  the  life  of  tlie  Venetian  republic  of  a  more 
alarming  and  terrible  character  tlian  had  ever  been  caused 
before  by  misfortunes  external  or  internal.  Since  those 
early  times  when  the  fugitive  fathers  of  the  state  took 
refuge  in  the  marshes  and  began  to  raise  their  miraculous 
city  out  of  the  salt  pools  and  mud-banks,  that  corner  of 
the  Adriatic  hnd  been  safe  from  all  external  attacks.  A 
raid  from  Aquileia,  half  ecclesiastical,  half  warlike,  had 
occurred  by  times  in  early  days,  threatening  Gradooreven 
Torcello,  but  nothing  which  it  gave  the  city  any  trouble 
to  overcome.  The  Greek  with  all  his  wiles  had  much 
ado  to  keep  her  conquering  galleys  from  his  coasts,  and 
lost  island  after  island  without  a  possibility  of  reprisals. 
The  Dalmatian  tribes  kept  her  in  constant  irritation 
and  disturbance,  yet  were  constrained  over  again  to 
own  her  mistress  of  the  sea,  and  never  affected  her 
home  sovereignty.  The  Turk  himself,  the  most  ap- 
palling of  invaders,  though  his  thunders  were  heard  near 
enough  to  arouse  alarm  and  rage,  never  got  within  sight 
of  the  wonderful  city.  It  was  reserved  for  her  sister  re- 
public, born  of  the  same  mother,  speaking  the  same 
language,  moved  by  the  same  instincts,  Genoa,  from  the 
other  side  of  the  peninsula,  the  rival  from  her  cradle  of 
the  other  sea-born  state,  to  make  it  possible,  if  but  for  one 
moment,  that  Venice  might  cease  to  be.  This  was 
during  the  course  of  the  struggle  called  by  some  of  the 
chroniclers   the  fourth,  by   others   the   seventh,  Genoese 


J  50  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

war — a  struggle  us  causeless  and  as  profitless  as  all  the 
wars  between  the  rivals  were,  resulting  in  endless  misery 
and  loss  to  both,  but  nothing  more.  The  war  in  question 
arose  nominally,  as  they  all  did,  from  one  of  the  convul- 
sions which  periodically  tore  the  empire  of  the  East 
asunder,  and  in  which  the  two  trading  states,  the  rival 
merchants,  seeking  every  pretense  to  push  their  traffic, 
instinctively  took  different  sides.  On  the  present  occasion 
it  was  an  Andronicus  who  had  dethroned  and  imprisoned 
his  father,  as  on  a  former  occasion  it  had  been  an  Alexius. 
Venice  was  on  the  side  of  the  injured  father,  Genoa  upon 
that  of  the  usurping  son — an  excellent  reason  for 
flying  at  each  other^'s  throats  wherever  that  was  practi- 
cable, and  seizing  each  other's  stray  galleys  on  the  high 
seas,  when  there  was  no  bigger  fighting  on  hand.  It  is 
curious  to  remark  that  the  balance  of  success  was  with 
Genoa  in  the  majority  of  these  struggles,  although  that 
state  was  neither  so  great  nor  so  consistently  independent 
as  that  of  Venice.  Our  last  chapter  recorded  the  complete 
and  ignominious  rout  of  the  great  Venetian  squadron  in 
which  Marco  Polo  was  a  volunteer,  in  the  beginning  of  the 
century  ;  and  seventy  years  later  (1379)  the  fortune  of  war 
was  still  the  same.  In  distant  seas  the  piracies  and 
lesser  triumphs  of  both  powers  maintained  a  sort  of  waver- 
ing equality  :  but  when  it  came  to  a  great  engagement 
Genoa  had  generally  the  upper  hand. 

The  rival  republic  was  also  at  this  period  reinforced  by 
many  allies.  The  Carrarese,  masters  of  Padua  and  all  the 
rich  surrounding  plains,  the  nearest  neighbors  of  Venice, 
afterward  her  victims,  had  joined  the  league  against  her. 
So  had  the  king  of  Hungary,  a  liCreditary  foe,  ever  on  the 
watch  to  snatch  a  Dalmatian  city  out  of  the  grip  of  Venice: 
and  the  patriarch  of  Aquileia,  a  great  ecclesiastical  prince 
who  from  generation  to  generation  never  seems  to  have 
forgiven  the  withdrawal  of  Venice  from  his  sway  and  the 
erection  of  Grado  into  a  rival  primacy.  This  strong  league 
against  her  did  not  at  first  daunt  the  proud  republic,  who, 
collecting  all  her  forces,  sent  out  a  powerful  expedition, 
and  so  long  as  the  war  went  on  at  a  distance  regarded  it,  if 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  151 

not  without  anxiety,  yet  with  more  wrath  than  fear.  But 
when  Vittoie  Pisani,  the  beloved  admiral  in  whose  prowess 
all  Venice  believed,  was  defeated  at  Pola,  a  thrill  of  alarm 
ran  through  the  city,  shortly  to  be  raised  into  the  utmost 
passion  of  fear.  Pisani  himself  and  a  few  of  his  captains 
escaped  from  the  rout,  which  was  so  complete  that  the 
historian  I'ecords  *' almost  all  the  Venetian  sea-forces''  to 
have  been  destroyed.  Two  thousand  prisoners,  Sabellico 
tells,  were  taken  by  the  Genoese,  and  the  entire  fleet  cut  to 
pieces.  When  the  beaten  admiral  arrived  in  Venice  he  met 
what  was  in  those  days  the  usual  fate  of  a  defeated  leader, 
and  was  thrown  into  prison;  but  not  on  this  occasion  with 
the  consent  of  the  populace,  who  loved  him,  and  believed 
that  envy  on  the  part  of  certain  powerful  persons,  and  not 
any  fault  of  his,  was  the  occasion  of  his  condemnation. 
After  this  a  continued  succession  of  misfortunes  befell  the 
republic.  What  other  ships  she  had  were  away  in  eastern 
seas,  and  the  authorities  seem  to  have  been  for  the  moment 
paralyzed.  Town  after  town  was  taken.  Grado  once 
more  fell  into  the  power  of  that  pitiless  patriarch:  and  the 
Genoese  held  the  mastery  of  the  Adriatic.  The  Venetians, 
looking  on  from  the  Lido,  saw  with  eyes  that  almost  refused 
to  believe  such  a  possibility,  with  tears  of  rage  and  shame, 
one  of  their  own  merchantmen  pursued  and  taken  by  the 
Genoese  and  plundered  and  burned  wliile  they  looked 
on,  within  a  mile  of  the  shore.  Tlie  enemy  took 
Pelestrina;  they  took  part  of  Chioggia,  burning  and 
sackingeverywhere;  then  sailed  off  triumphant  to  the  turb- 
ulent Zara,  which  they  had  made  their  own,  dragging 
the  Venetian  banners  which  they  had  taken  at  Pola 
through  the  water  as  they  sailed  triumphantly  away.  The 
Venetian  senate,  stung  to  the  quick,  attempted,  it 
would  seem,  to  raise  another  fleet;  but  in  vain,  the  sailors 
refusing  to  inscribe  themselves  under  any  leader  but  Pisani. 
A  few  vessels  were  with  difficulty  armed  to  defend  the  port 
and  Lido,  upon  which  hasty  fortifications,  great  towers  of 
wood,  were  raised,  with  chains  drawn  across  the  navigable 
channels  and  barges  sunk  to  make  the  watery  ways  im- 
passable.    When  however,  the  enejny,  returning  and  find- 


152  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ing  the  coast  without  defense,  recaptured  one  after  another 
the  Venetian  strongholds  on  the  west  side  of  the  Adriatic, 
and  finally  took  possession  in  force  of  Chioggia,  the  popu- 
lace took  up  the  panic  of  their  rulers. 

*'  When  the  fall  of  Chioggia  was  known,  which  was  toward  mid- 
night, the  city  being  taken  in  the  morning,  there  arose  such  a  terror 
in  the  palace  that  as  soon  as  day  dawned  there  was  a  general  sum- 
mons to  arms,  and  from  all  quarters  the  people  rushed  toward  the 
piazza.  The  court  and  square  were  crowded  with  the  multitude  of 
citizens.  The  news  of  the  taking  of  Chioggia  was  then  published  by 
order  of  the  senate,  upon  which  there  arose  such  a  cry  and  such 
lamentations  as  could  not  have  been  greater  had  Venice  itself  been 
lost.  The  women  throughout  the  city  went  about  weeping,  now 
raising  their  arms  to  heaven,  now  beating  upon  their  breasts  :  the 
men  stood  talking  together  of  the  public  misfortune,  and  that  these 
was  now  no  hope  of  saving  the  republic,  but  that  the  entire  dominion 
would  be  lost.  They  mourned  each  his  private  loss,  but  still  more 
the  danger  of  losing  their  freedom.  All  believed  that  the  Genoese 
would  press  on  at  once,  overrun  all  the  territory,  and  destroy  the 
Venetian  name  :  and  they  held  consultations  how  to  save  their  pos- 
sessions, money,  and  jewels,  whether  they  should  send  them  to  dis- 
tant places,  or  hide  them  underground  in  the  monasteries.  All  joined 
in  this  lamentation  and  panic,  and  many  believed  that  if  in  this  mo- 
ment of  terror  the  enemy's  fleet  had  pressed  on  to  the  city,  either  it 
would  have  fallen  at  once,  or  would  have  been  in  the  greatest  dan- 
ger." 

*'But/'  adds  Sabellico  piously,  "God  does  not  show 
everything  to  one  man.  Many  know  how  to  win  a  battle 
but  not  how  to  follow  up  the  victory."  This  fact,  which 
has  stood  the  human  race  in  stead  at  many  moments  of 
alarm,  saved  Venice.  The  Genoese  did  not  venture  to 
push  their  victory  :  but  their  presence  at  Chioggia,  espe- 
cially in  view  of  their  alliance  with  Carrara  at  Padua,  was 
almost  as  alarming.  The  Venetian  ships  were  shut  out 
from  the  port,  the  supplies  by  land  equally  interrupted ; 
only  from  Treviso  could  any  provisions  reach  the  city,  and 
the  scarcity  began  at  once  to  be  felt.  Worse,  however, 
than  any  of  the  practical  miseries  which  surrounded  Venice 
was  the  want  of  a  leader  or  any  one  in  whom  the  people 
could  trust.  The  doge  was  Andrea  Contarini,  a  name  to 
which  much  of  the  fame  of  the  eventual  success  has  been 


THE  MAKERS  OB  VENICE,  153 

attributed,  but  it  does  not  seem  in  this  terrible  crisis  to 
have  inspired  tlie  public  mind  with  any  confidence.  After 
the  pause  of  panic,  and  the  troubled  consultations  of  this 
moment  of  despair,  one  thought  suddenly  seized  the  mind 
of  Venice.  **  Finally  all  concluded  that  in  the  whole  city 
there  was  but  one  Pisani,  and  that  he,  who  was  dear  to  all, 
might  still  secure  the  public  safety  in  this  terrible  and  dan- 
gerous crisis."  That  he  should  lie  in  prison  and  in  dark- 
ness, this  man  whose  appearance  alone  would  give  new 
heart  to  the  city  !  There  was  a  general  rush  toward  the 
palazzo  when  this  thought  first  burst  into  words  and  flew 
from  one  to  another.  The  senate,  unable  to  resist,  not- 
withstanding *^the  envy  of  certain  nobles,"  conceded  the 
prayer  of  the  people.  And  here  for  a  moment  the  tumultu- 
ous and  complicated  story  pauses  to  give  us  a  glimpse  of 
the  man  che  ad  cgnuno  era  moUo  carOy  as  the  historian,  im- 
pressed by  the  universal  sentiment,  assures  us  again  and 
again.  The  whole  population  had  assembled  in  the  piazza 
to  receive  him  : 

"  But  so  great  was  bis  modesty  that  be  preferred  to  remain  for  tbis 
nigbt  in  tbe  prison,  wbere  be  begged  tbat  a  priest  migbt  be  sent  to 
bini,  and  confessed,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  day  went  out  into  tbe  court, 
and  to  tbe  cburcb  of  San  Niccolo,  wbere  be  received  tbe  precious  sac- 
rament of  tbe  Host,  in  order  to  sbow  tbat  be  bad  pardoned  every  in- 
jury botb  public  and  private  :  and  baving  done  tbis  be  made  bis  ap- 
pearance before  tbe  prince  and  tbe  signorii.  Having  made  bis  rev- 
erence to  tbe  senate  not  witb  angry  or  even  troubled  looks,  but  witb 
a  countenance  glad  and  joyful,  be  placed  bim&elf  at  tbe  feet  of  tbe 
doge,  wbo  tbus  addressed  bim.  '  On  a  former  occasion,  Vittore,  it 
was  our  business  to  execute  justice  ;  it  is  now  tbe  time  to  grant  grace. 
It  was  commanded  tbat  you  sbould  be  imprisoned  for  tbe  defeat  of 
Pola,  now  we  will  tbat  you  sbould  be  set  free.  We  will  not  inquire 
if  tbis  is  a  just  tbing  or  not,  but  leaving  tbe  past,  desire  you  to  con- 
sider tbe  present  state  of  tbe  republic,  and  tbe  necessity  for  preserv- 
ing and  defending  it,  and  so  to  act  tbat  your  fellow-citizens,  wbo 
honor  you  for  your  great  bearing,  may  owe  to  you  tbeir  safety,  botb 
public  and  private.'  Pisani  made  answer  in  tbis  wise  :  '  Tbere  is  no 
punisbment,  most  serene  prince,  wbicb  can  come  to  me  from  you  or 
from  tbe  otbers  wLo  govern  tbe  republic  wbicb  I  sbould  not  bear 
witb  a  good  beart,  as  a  good  citizen  ougbt.  I  know,  most  serene 
prince,  tbat  all  tbings  are  done  for  tbe  good  of  tbe  republic,  for 
wbicb  I  do  not  doubt  all  your  counsels  and  regulations  are  framed. 


154  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

As  for  private  grievances,  I  am  so  far  from  thinking  that  they 
should  work  harm  to  any  one  that  I  have  this  day  received  the 
blessed  sacrament,  and  been  present  at  the  holy  sacrifice,  that  noth- 
ing may  be  more  evident  than  that  I  have  forever  forgotten  to  hate 
any  man.  ...  As  for  what  you  say  inviting  me  to  save  the 
republic,  I  desire  nothing  more  than  to  obey  it,  and  will  gladly  en- 
deavor to  defend  her,  and  God  grant  that  I  may  be  he  who  may 
deliver  her  from  peril,  by  whatsoever  way,  with  my  best  thought  and 
care,  for  I  know  that  the  will  shall  not  be  wanting.'  With  these 
words  he  embraced  and  kissed  the  prince  with  many  tears,  and  so 
went  to  his  house,  passing  through  the  joyful  multitude,  and  accom- 
panied by  the  entire  people." 

It  may  afford  some  explanation  of  the  low  ebb  to  which 
Venice  had  come  at  this  crisis,  that  not  even  now  was 
Pisani  appointed  to  the  first  command,  and  it  was  only 
after  another  popular  rising  that  the  invidia  cValcuni  no- 
hili  was  finally  defeated,  and  he  was  put  in  his  proper 
place  as  commander  of  the  fleet.  Wlien  this  was  ac3om- 
plished  the  sailors  enlisted  in  such  numbers  that  in  three 
days  six  galleys  were  fully  equipped  to  sail  under  the  be- 
loved commander,  along  with  a  great  number  of  smaller 
vessels,  such  as  were  needful  for  the  narrow  channels 
about  Chioggia,  only  navigable  by  light  flat-bottomed  boats 
and  barges.  A  few  successes  fell  to  Pisani^'s  share  at  first, 
which  raised  the  spirits  of  the  Venetians  :  and  another 
fleet  of  forty  galleys  was  equipped,  commanded  by  the 
doge  himself,  in  the  hope  of  complete  victory.  But  it 
was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  the  city,  once  so  rich, 
could  get  together  money  enough  to  prepare  these  arma- 
ments ;  and  poverty  and  famine  were  in  her  streets,  de- 
serted by  all  the  able-bodied  and  left  to  the  fear  and  melan- 
choly anticipations  of  the  weaker  part  of  the  population. 
To  meet  this  emergency  the  senate  published  a  proclama- 
tion holding  out  to  all  who  would  furnish  money  or  ships 
or  men,  the  prize  of  admission  into  the  Great  Council, 
offering  that  much-coveted  promotion  to  thirty  new  fami- 
lies from  among  the  most  liberal  citizens,  and  promising 
to  the  less  wealthy  or  less  willing  interest  for  their  money, 
fine  thousand  ducats  to  be  distributed  among  them  yearly. 
"Many  moved  by  the  hope  of  such  a  dignity,  some  also  for 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  155 

love  of  their  country,"  says  Sabellico,  came  forward  with 
their  offerings,  no  less  than  sixty  families  thus  distinguish- 
ing themselves  :  and  many  fine  deeds  were  done.  Among 
others  tliere  is  mention  made  of  a  once  rich  Chioggiote, 
Matteo  Fasnolo  by  name,  who  having  lost  everything  pre- 
sented himself  and  his  two  sons,  all  that  was  left  to  him, 
to  give  their  lives  for  the  republic. 

The  rout  of  Pola  took  place  in  March,  1379  :  in  August 
the  Genoese  took  possession  of  Chioggia  and  sat  down  at 
the  gates  of  Venice.  It  was  as  if  the  mouth  of  the  Thames 
had  been  in  possession  of  an  assailant  of  London,  with  this 
additional  misfortune,  that  the  country  behind,  the  store- 
house and  supply  on  ordinary  occasions  of  the  city,  was 
also  in  the  possession  of  her  enemies.  How  it  came  about 
that  Pisani  with  his  galleys  and  innumerable  barks,  and 
the  doge  with  his  great  fleet,  did  next  to  nothing  against 
these  bold  invaders,  it  seems  impossible  to  tell.  The  show- 
ers of  arrows  with  which  they  harassed  each  other,  the 
great  wooden  towers  erected  on  both  sides,  for  attack  and 
defense,  weie  no  doubt  very  different  from  anything  that 
armies  and  fleets  have  trusted  in  since  the  days  of  artillery. 
But  with  all  these  disadvantages  it  seems  wonderful  that 
this  state  of  affairs  should  languish  on  through  the  winter 
months — then  universally  considered  a  time  for  rest  in 
port  and  not  for  action  on  the  seas — without  any  result.  A 
continual  succession  of  little  encounters,  sallies  of  the 
Genoese,  assaults  of  the  besiegers,  sometimes  ending  in  a 
trifling  victory,  sometimes  only  adding  to  the  number  of 
the  nameless  sufferers — the  sailors  sweating  at  the  oars,  the 
bowmen  on  the  deck — went  on  for  month  after  month. 
The  doge's  fleet,  according  to  one  account,  went  back 
every  night  to  Venice,  the  men  sleeping  at  home  and  re- 
turning to  their  hopeless  work  every  day,  with  it  may  be 
supposed  but  little  heart  for  it.  And  not  only  their  ene- 
mies but  all  the  evils  of  the  season,  cold  and  snow  and 
storm,  fought  against  the  Venetians.  Sometimes  they 
would  be  driven  apart  by  the  tempestuous  weather,  losing 
sight  of  each  other,  occasionally  even  coming  to  disastrous 
shipwreck  ;  and  lovely  as  are  the  lagoons  under  most  as- 


156  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

pects,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  anything  more  dreary 
and  miserable  than  the  network  of  slimy  passages  among 
the  marshes,  and  the  'gray  wastes  of  sea  around,  in  the 
mists  and  chill  of  December,  and  amid  the  perpetual  fail- 
ures and  defeats  of  an  ever  unsuccessful  conflict.  Want 
grew  to  famine  in  Venice,  her  supplies  being  stopped  and 
her  trade  destroyed  :  and  even  the  rich  plebeians  who  had 
strained  their  utmost  to  benefit  their  country  and  gain  the 
promised  nobility,  began  to  show  signs  of  exhaustion,  and 
*^the  one  Pisani,''  in  whom  the  city  had  placed  such  en- 
tire confidence — though,  wonderfully  enough,  he  does  not 
seem  to  have  lost  his  hold  upon  the  popular  affections — 
had  not  been  able  to  deliver  his  country.  In  these  circum- 
stances the  eyes  of  all  began  to  turn  with  feverish  impa- 
tience to  another  captain,  distant  upon  the  high  seas,  after 
whom  the  senate  had  dispatched  message  after  message  to 
call  him  back  with  his  galleys  to  the  help  of  the  republic. 
He  was  the  only  hope  that  remained  in  the  dark  mid- 
winter :  when  all  their  expedients  failed  them,  and  all 
their  efforts  proved  unsuccessful,  there  remained  still  a 
glimmer  of  possibility  that  all  might  go  well  if  Carlo  were 
but  there. 

Carlo  Zeno,  the  object  of  this  last  hope,  at  the  moment 
careering  over  the  seas  at  the  head  of  an  active  and  dar- 
ing little  fleet  which  had  been  engaged  in  making  re- 
prisals upon  the  Genoese  coasts,  carrying  fire  and  flame 
along  the  eastern  Riviera — and  which  was  now  fighting 
the  battles  of  Venice  against  everything  that  bore  the 
flag  of  Genoa,  great  or  small — was  a  man  formed  on  all  the 
ancient  traditions  of  the  republic,  a  soldier,  a  sailor,  a  mer- 
chant, adventurer,  and  orator,  a  born  leader  of  men.  Of 
the  house  of  Zeno,  his  mother  a  Dandolo,  no  better  blood 
is  in  the  golden  book  (not  then  however  in  existence)  than 
that  which  ran  in  his  veins,  and  his  adventurous  life  and 
career  were  most  apt  to  fire  the  imagination  and  delight 
the  popular  fancy.  His  father  had  died  a  kind  of  martyr 
for  the  faith  in  an  expedition  for  the  relief  of  Symrna, 
when  Carlo  was  but  seven  years  old.  He  was  then  sent  to 
the  pope  at  Avignon,  who  endowed   the   orphan   with  a 


TBE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  157 

canonicate  at  Partas,  apparently  a  rich  benefice.  But  the 
boy  was  not  destined  to  live  the  peaceful  life  of  an  ecclesi- 
astical dignitary,  lie  passed  through  the  stormy  youth 
which  in  those  days  was  so  often  the  beginning  of  a  heroic 
career — ran  wild  at  Padua,  where  he  was  sent  to  study,  lost 
all  that  he  had  at  play,  and  having  sold  even  his  books,  en- 
listed as  would  appear  in  some  troop  of  free  lances,  in  which 
for  five  years  he  was  lost  to  his  friends,  but  learned  the  art 
of  war,  to  his  great  after  profit  and  the  good  of  his  country. 
When,  after  having  roamed  all  Italy  through,  he  reappeared 
in  Venice,  his  family,  it  is  probable,  made  little  effort  to  pre- 
vent the  young  troper  from  proceeding  to  Greece  to  take 
up  his  canon's  stall,  for  which  no  doubt  these  wander- 
ings had  curiously  prepared  him.  His  biography,  written 
by  his  grandson,  Jacopo,  Bishop  of  Padua,  narrates  all  the 
incidents  of  his  early  life  in  full  detail.  At  Patras,  the 
adventurous  youth,  then  only  twenty-two,  was  very  soon 
placed  in  the  front  during  the  incessant  wars  with  the 
Turks,  which  kept  that  remote  community  in  perpetual 
turmoil — and  managed  botli  the  strategy  of  war  and  the 
arts  of  statesmanship  with  such  ability,  that  he  obtained 
an  honorable  peace  and  the  withdrawal  of  the  enemy  on 
the  payment  of  a  certain  indemnity.  However  great  may 
be  the  danger  which  is  escaped  in  this  way,  there  are  always 
objectors  who  consider  that  better  terms  might  have  been 
made.  ''Human  nature,"  says  Bishop  Jacopo,  ''is  a  miser- 
able thing,  and  virtue  always  finds  enemies,  nor  was  any- 
thing ever  so  well  done  but  envy  found  means  of  spoiling 
and  misrepresenting  it."  Carlo  did  not  escape  this  com- 
mon fate,  and  the  Greek  governor,  taking  part  with  his 
adversaries,  deprived  him  of  his  canonicate.  Highly  indig- 
nant at  tliis  affront,  the  angry  youth  threw  up  "various 
other  ecclesiastical  dignities"  which  we  are  told  he  pos- 
sessed in  various  parts  of  Greece;  whereupon  his  life  took 
an  aspect  much  more  harmonious  with  his  character  and 
pursuits.  "  Fortune,"  says  our  bishop,  "never  forsakes  him 
who  has  a  great  soul.  There  was  in  Chiarenza  a  noble 
lady  of  great  wealth,  who  having  heard  of  Carlo's  achieve- 
ments, and  marveling  at   the  greatness  of  his  spirit,   con- 


158  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ceived  a  desire  to  have  liim  for  her  husband.  And  Carlo, 
being  now  free  from  the  ecclesiastical  yoke,  was  at  liberty 
to  take  a  wife,  and  willingly  contracted  matrimony  with 
her/'  This  marriage  liowever  was  not  apparently  of  very 
long  duration,  for  scarcely  had  he  cleared  himself  of  all  the 
intrigues  against  him,  when  his  wife  died,  leaving  him  as 
poor  as  before:  *'Her  death,  which  as  was  befitting  he 
lamented  duly,  did  him  a  double  injury,  for  he  lost  his  wife 
and  her  wealth  together,  her  property  consisting  entirely  of 
feoifs,  which  fell  at  her  death  to  the  prince  of  Achaia." 
This  misfortune  changed  the  current  of  his  life.  He  re- 
turned to  Venice,  and  after  a  proper  interval  married  again 
a  lady  of  the  house  of  Giustiniani.  ^'Soon  after,  reflecting 
that  in  a  maritime  country  trade  is  of  the  highest  utility, 
and  that  it  was  indeed  the  chief  sustenance  of  his  city,  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  adopt  the  life  of  a  merchant:  and 
leaving  Venice  with  this  intention,  remained  seven  years 
absent,  living  partly  in  a  castle  called  Tanai  on  the  banks 
of  the  river  Tanai  and  partly  in  Constantinople." 

Such  had  been  the  life,  full  of  variety  and  experience,  of 
the  man  to  whom  the  eyes  of  Venice  turned  in  her  humilia- 
tion. He  had  been  all  over  Italy  in  his  youth,  during  that 
wild  career  which  carried  him  out  of  the  view  of  his  family 
and  friends.  He  had  been  even  further  a-field  in  France, 
Germany,  and  England,  in  a  short  episode  of  service  under 
the  Emperor  Charles  IV.  between  two  visits  alia  sua  chiesa 
di  Patrasso.  He  had  fought  the  Turks  and  led  the  arma- 
ments of  Achaia  during  his  residence  at  his  canonicate  ; 
and  now,  all  these  tumults  over,  re-settled  into  the  natural 
position  of  a  Venetian,  with  a  Venetian  wife  and  all  the 
traditions  of  his  race  to  shape  his  career,  had  taken  to 
commerce,  peacefully,  so  far  as  the  time  permitted,  in  tliose 
golden  lands  of  the  east  where  it  was  the  wont  of  his 
countrymen  to  make  their  fortunes.  And  success  it  would 
appear  had  not  forsaken  c/^i  ha  Vanima  grande,  the  man  of 
great  mind — for  when  he  reappeared  in  Venice  it  was  with 
a  magnificence  of  help  to  the  republic  which  only  a  man  of 
wealth  could  give.  He  was  still  engaged  in  peaceful  occupa- 
tions  when  war   broke   out   between  Genoa  and  Venice. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  159 

Carlo  had  already  compromised  himself  by  an  attempt  to 
free  the  dethroned  emperor,  and  had  been  in  great  danger 
in  Constantinople,  accused  before  the  Venetian  governor 
of  treasonable  practices,  and  only  saved  by  the  arrival  of 
the  great  convoy  from  Venice  'Svhich  reached  Constanti- 
nople every  year,  "  and  in  which  he  had  friends.  Even  at 
this  time  he  is  said  to  have  had  soldiers  in  his  service, 
probably  for  the  protection  of  his  trade  in  the  midst  of  the 
continual  tumults  ;  and  his  historian  declares  that  no  sooner 
had  he  escaped  from  Constantinople  than  he  began  to  act 
energetically  for  the  republic,  securing  to  Venice  the  waver- 
ing allegiance  of  the  island  of  Tenedos,  from  which  the 
Venetian  galleys  under  his  (part)  command  chased  off  the 
emissaries  of  the  emperor,  and  where  a  Venetian  garrison 
w^as  installed.  His  first  direct  action  in  the  service  of  the 
state  however  would  seem  to  have  been  that  sudden  raid 
upon  the  Genoese  coast  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  war,  to 
which  we  have  referred,  with  the  purpose  of  making  a 
diversion  and  if  possible  calling  back  to  the  defense  of  their 
own  city  the  triumphant  armies  of  Genoa.  This  intention 
however  was  not  carried  out  by  the  result,  though  otherwise 
the  expedition  was  so  successful  that  ''the  name  of  Carlo 
Zeno, "  says  his  historian  writing  more  than  a  hundred 
years  after,  **is  terrible  to  that  cit^  even  to  the  present 
day. "  After  this  exploit  he  seems  to  have  returned  to  the 
east,  per  nettare  la  mare,  sweeping  the  sea  clear  of  every 
Genoese  vessel  tliat  came  in  his  way,  and  calling  at  every 
rebellious  port  with  much  effect. 

In  the  midst  of  these  engagements  the  news  of  the  defeat 
at  Pola  did  not  reach  him  till  long  after  the  event,  and 
even  the  messengers  despatched  by  the  senate,  one  boat 
after  another,  failed  to  find  the  active  and  unwearied  sea- 
man as  he  swept  the  seas.  Such  a  ubiquitous  career,  now 
here,  now  there,  darting  from  one  point  to  another  with  a 
celerity  which  was  a  marvel  in  these  days  of  slow  sailing 
and  long  pauses,  and  the  almost  invariable  success  which 
seemed  to  attend  him,  gave  Carlo  a  singular  charm  to  the 
popular  imagination.  No  one  was  more  successful  at  sea, 
no  one  half  so  successful  on  land  as  this  leader,  suddenly 


160  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

improvised  by  his  own  great  deeds  in  the  very  moment  of 
need,  whose  adventures  had  given  him  experience  of  every- 
thing that  the  mediaeval  world  knew,  and  who  had  the 
special  gift  of  his  race  in  addition  to  everything  else — the 
power  of  the  orator  over  a  people  specially  open  to  that 
influence.  Sanudo  says  that  Carlo  at  first  refused  to  obey 
the  commands  of  the  senate,  preferring  to  nettar  la  mare 
to  that  more  dangerous  work  of  dislodging  the  Genoese 
from  Ohioggia.  But  there  would  seem  to  be  no  real  war- 
rant  for  this  assertion.  The  messengers  were  slow  to  reach 
him.  They  arrived  when  his  hands  were  still  full  and 
when  it  was  difficult  to  give  immediate  obedience ;  and 
when  he  did  set  out  to  obey,  a  strong  temptation  fell  in  his 
way  and  for  a  time  delayed  his  progress.  This  was  a  great 
ship  from  Genoa,  the  description  of  which  is  like  that  of 
the  galleons  which  tempted  Drake  and  his  brother  mariners. 
It  was  gra7ide  oltre  mdsura,  a  bigger  ship  than  had  ever 
been  seen,  quite  beyond  the  habits  and  dimensions  of  the 
time,  laden  with  wealth  of  every  kind,  and  an  enormous 
crew,  *^for  besides  the  sailors  and  the  bowmen  it  carried 
two  hundred  Genoese,  each  of  whom  was  a  senator  or  the 
son  of  a  senator. ''  It  was  winter,  and  the  great  vessel 
was  more  at  home  on  the  high  seas  than  the  navigli  leggieri 
with  which  our  hero  had  been  flying  from  island  to  island. 
The  sight  of  that  nimble  fleet  filled  the  Genoese  com- 
mander with  alarm  ;  and  he  set  all  sail  to  get  out  of  their 
way.  It  was  evidently  considered  a  mighty  piece  of  daring 
to  attack  such  a  ship  at  all,  or  even  to  be  out  at  all  at  such 
a  season  instead  of  in  port,  as  sensible  galleys  always  were 
in  winter.  When  however  the  wind  dropped  and  the 
course  of  the  big  vessel  was  arrested.  Carlo's  opportunity 
came.  He  called  his  crews  together  and  made  them  a 
speech,  which  seems  to  have  been  his  habit.  The  vessels 
collected  in  a  cluster  round  the  high  prow  on  which  he 
stood,  reaching  with  his  great  voice  in  the  hush  of  the  calm 
all  the  listening  crews,  must  have  been  such  a  sight  as 
none  of  our  modern  wonders  could  parallel ;  and  he  was  as 
emphatic  as  Nelson  if  much  longer  winded.  The  great 
Bichignona,  with  her  huge  sails  drooping  and  no  wind  to 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  161 

help  her  from  her  pursuers,  was  no  doubt  lying  \\\  sight, 
giving  tremendous  meaning  to  his  oration.  *^  Men,"  he 
cried,  ''valenti  uomini,  if  you  were  ever  prompt  and  ardent 
in  battle,  now  is  the  time  to  prove  yourselves  so.  You 
have  to  do  with  the  Genoese,  your  bitter  and  cruel  enemies 
whose  whole  endeavor  is  to  extinguishthe  Venetian  name. 
Tiiey  have  beaten  our  fleet  at  Pola,  with  great  bloodshed; 
they  have  occupied  Chioggia  :  and  our  city  itself  will  soon 
be  assailed  by  them  to  reduce  her  to  nothing,  killing  your 
wives  and  cliildren,  and  destroying  your  property  and 
everything  there  by  fire  and  sword.  Up  then,  my  brothers, 
compagni  miei!  despise  not  the  occasion  here  offered  to  you 
to  strike  a  telling  blow;  which,  if  you  do,  the  enemy  shall 
pay  dearly  for  their  madness,  as  they  well  deserve,  and 
you,  joyful  and  full  of  honor,  will  deliver  Venice  and  your 
wives  and  children  from  ruin  and  calamity." 

When  he  had  ended  this  speech  he  caused  the  trumpets 
to  sound  the  signal  of  attack.  The  oars  swept  forth,  the 
galleys  rushed  witli  tlieir  high-beaked  prows  like  so  many 
strange  birds  of  prey  round  the  big  helpless  over-crowded 
ship.  *'They  fought  with  partisans,  darts,  arrows,  and 
every  kind  of  arm;  but  the  lances  from  the  ship  were  more 
vehement  as  reaching  from  a  higher  elevation,  tlie  form  of 
the  ship  {nave)  being  higher  than  the  galleys,  which  were 
long  and  low:  nevertheless  the  courage  of  the  Venetians 
and  their  science  in  warfare  were  so  great  that  they  over- 
came every  diflflculty.  Thus,"  goes  on  the  iiistorian,  *'this 
ship  was  taken,  which  in  size  exceeded  everything  known 
in  that  age."  Carlo  dragged  his  prey  to  Rhodes,  ''not 
without  difficulty,"  and  there  burned  her,  giving  up  the  im- 
mense booty  to  his  sailors  and  soldiers:  then  ''recalling  to  his 
mind  his  country,"  with  great  trouble  got  his  men  to- 
gether laden  with  their  spoils,  and,  toiling  day  and  night 
without  thought  of  clanger  or  fatigue,  at  length  reached 
the  Adriatic.  Calling  at  an  Italian  port  on  his  way  to 
victual  his  ships,  he  found  other  letters  from  the  senate 
still  more  imperative,  and  on  the  1st  day  of  January,  1380, 
he  arrived  before  Chioggia,  where  lay  all  the  force  that  re- 
mained to  Venice,  and  where  his  appearance  had  been  anx- 
iously looked  for,  for  many  a  weary  day. 


16S  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

The  state  of  the  republic  would  appear  to  have  been  all 
but  desperate  at  this  miserable  ruoment.  After  endless 
comings  and  goings,  partial  victories  now  and  then  which 
raised  their  spirits  for  the  moment,  but  a  ceaseless  course 
of  harassing  and  fatiguing  conflict  in  narrow  waters  where 
scarcely  two  galleys  could  keep  abreast,  and  where  the 
Venetians  were  subject  to  constant  showers  of  arrows  from 
the  Genoese  fortifications,  the  two  fleets,  one  of  them  under 
the  doge,  the  other  under  Pisani,  seem  to  have  lost  heart 
simultaneously.  In  the  galleys  under  the  command  of 
Contarini  were  many  if  not  all  the  members  of  the  senate, 
who  had  from  the  beginning  shown  the  feeblest  heart,  and 
meetings  were  held,  and  timorous  and  terrified  consultations 
unworthy  tlieir  name  and  race,  as  to  the  possibility  of 
throwing  up  the  struggle  altogether,  leaving  Venice  to  her 
fate,  and  taking  refuge  in  Candia  or  even  Constantinople, 
where  these  terrified  statesmen,  unused  to  the  miseries  of  a 
winter  campaign  on  board  ship,  and  the  incessant  watch ings 
and  fightings  in  which  they  had  to  take  their  part,  thought 
it  might  be  possible  to  begin  again  as  their  fathers  had 
done.  While  these  cowardly  counsels  were  being  whispered 
in  each  other's  ears,  on  one  hand,  on  the  other,  the  crews 
with  greater  reason  were  on  the  verge  of  mutiny. 

"  The  galleys  were  so  riddled  with  the  arrows  of  the  enemy  that 
the  sailors  in  desperation  cried  with  one  voice  that  the  siege  must  be 
relinquished,  that  otherwise  all  that  were  in  the  galleys  round  Chiog- 
gia  were  dead  men.  Those  also  who  held  the  banks,  fearing  that  the 
squadrons  of  Carrara  would  fall  upon  them  from  behind,  demanded 
anxiously  to  be  liberated,  and  that  the  defense  of  the  coast  should  be 
abandoned.  Pisani  besought  them  to  endure  a  little  longer,  since  in 
a  few  days  Carlo  Zeno  must  arrive,  adding  both  men  and  ships  to  the 
armata,  so  that  the  Genoese  in  their  turn  would  lose  heart.  Equal 
desperation  of  mind  was  in  the  other  division  of  the  fleet,  where  cold, 
hunger,  and  the  deadly  showers  of  arrows  which  were  continually 
directed  against  the  galleys,  had  so  broken  and  worn  out  all  spirit 
that  soldiers  and  all  who  were  on  board  thought  rather  of  flight  than 
combat.  The  presence  of  the  doge  somewhat  sustained  the  multi- 
tude, and  the  exhortation  he  made  showing  them  what  shame  and 
danger  would  arise  to  their  country  if  they  raised  the  seige,  since  the 
Genoese,  seeing  them  depart,  would  immediately  follow  them  to  Ven- 
ice .     But  neither  by  prayers  nor  by  promises  could  the  spirits  of  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  163 

men  be  emboldened  to  continue  the  siege.  And  things  had  come  to 
such  a  pitch  that,  for  two  days  one  after  the  other  on  either  side  had 
determined  to  raise  the  siege,  when  Carlo  Zeno,  just  in  time,  with 
fourteen  galleys  fully  equipped  with  provisions  and  men,  about  noon, 
as  if  sent  by  God,  entered  the  port  of  Chioggia." 


Carlo  turned  the  balance,  and  supplied  at  once  the  stimulus 
needed  to  encourage  these  despairing  squadrons,  unmanned 
by  co!itinual  failure  and  all  by  the  miseries  of  sea  and  war — 
troubles  to  which  the  greater  part  were  unaccustomed, 
since  in  tlie  failure  of  figliting  men  this  armada  of  despair 
had  been  filled  up  by  unaccustomed  hands;  mostly  artisans, 
says  Sabellico — whose  discouragement  is  more  pardonable. 
Great  was  the  joy  of  the  Venetians,  continues  the  same 
authority,  '^when  they  heard  what  Carlo  had  done;  how  he 
had  sunk  in  the  high  seas  seventy  ships  of  divers  kinds  be- 
longing to  the  enemy,  and  the  great  bark  Bichignona,  and 
taken  three  hundred  Genoese  merchants,  and  three 
hundred  thousand  ducats  of  booty,  besides  seamen 
and  other  prisoners."  The  newcomer  passed  on  to  Pisani 
after  he  had  cheered  the  doge's  squadron,  and  spread  joy 
around,  even  the  contingent  upon  the  coast  taking  heart; 
and  another  arrival  from  Candia  taking  place  almostatthe 
same  moment,  the  Venetians  found  themselves  in  possession 
of  fifty-two  galleys,  many  of  them  now  manned  with  vet- 
erans, and  feared  the  enemy  no  more. 

It  is  impossible  to  follow  in  detail  the  after  incidents  of 
this  famous  siege.  Carlo  in  concert  with,  and  partial  sub- 
ordination to,  Pisani,  succeeded  in  blockading  Chioggia  so 
completely  that  the  enemy  began  to  feel  the  same  stress  of 
famine  which  they  had  inflicted  upon  the  Venetians. 
But  the  various  attacks  and  assaults,  the  varying  fortunes 
of  the  besieged  and  besiegers,  are  too  many  to  be  recorded, 
as  the  painstaking  and  leisurely  chronicler  does,  event  by 
event.  According  to  the  biographer  of  Carlo,  that  hero 
was  never  at  a  loss,  but  encountered  every  movementof  the 
Genoese,  as  they  too  began  to  get  uneasy,  and  to  perceive 
that  the  circle  round  them  was  being  drawn  closer,  and  closer 
with  a  more  able  movement  on  his  side,  and  met  the  casu- 


164  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

alties  of  storm  and  accident  with  the  same  never-failing  wit 
and  wealth  of  resource.  According  to  Bishop  Jacopo,  the 
entire  work  was  accomplished  by  his  ancestor,  though  other 
\^riters  give  a  certain  credit  to  the  other  commanders. 
But  as  soon  as  operations  of  a  really  important  and  prac- 
tical character  had  begun,  a  new  danger,  specially  char- 
acteristic of  the  age,  arose  on  the  Venetian  side.  Bishop 
Jacopo  Zeno  would  have  us  believe  that  up  to  this  time 
the  Venetians  had  hired  no  mercenaries,  which  is  an  evi- 
dent mistake,  since  we  have  already  heard,  even  in  this 
very  conflict,  of  forces  on  shore,  a  small  and  apparently 
faitliful  contingent,  led  by  a  certain  Giacomo  Cavallo,  of 
Verona.  But  perhaps  it  was  the  first  time  that  a  great 
armament  had  been  collected  under  the  banner  of  San 
Marco.  With  that  daring  of  despair  which  is  above  all 
calculation  as  to  means  of  payment  or  support,  the  senate 
had  got  together  a  force  of  six  thousand  men — a  little 
army,  which  was  to  be  conducted  by  the  famous  English 
Oondottiere,  Sir  John  Hawkwood,  Giovanni  Aguto  ac- 
cording to  the  Italian  version  of  his  name.  These  soldiers 
assembled  at  Pelestrina,  an  island  in  the  mouth  of  the 
lagoons  not  far  from  Ohioggia.  But  when  the  band  was 
collected  and  ready  for  action,  the  senate,  dismayed, 
found  tke  leader  wanting.  Whether  the  Genoese  had  any 
hand  in  this  defalcation,  or  whether  the  great  Oondottiere 
was  kept  back  by  other  engagements,  it  is  certain  that  at 
the  last  moment  he  failed  them  ;  and  the  new  levies,  all 
unknown  and  strange  to  each  other,  fierce  fighting  men 
from  every  nationality,  stranded  on  this  island  without  a 
captain,  became  an  additional  care  instead  of  an  aid  to  the 
anxious  masters  of  Venice.  Fierce  discussions  arose  among 
them,  wia  pericolosa  contesa,  the  Italians  against  the 
French  and  Germans.  In  this  emergency  the  senate 
turned  to  Carlo  Zeno  as  their  only  hope.  His  youthful 
experiences  had  made  him  familiar  with  the  ways  of  these 
fierce  and  dangerous  auxiliaries,  and  he  was  considered  a 
better  leader,  Sabellico  tells  us,  by  land  than  by  sea. 
To  him  accordingly  the  charge  of  pacifying  the  merce- 
naries  was  given.     ''  Carlo,  receiving   this  commission  to 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  165 

pass  from  the  fleet  to  the  camp,  and  from  war  at  sea  to  war 
on  land,"  put  on  his  armor,  and  quickly,  witli  a  few  com- 
panions, transferred  himself  to  Pelestrina,  where  he  found 
everything  in  a  deplorable  condition  : 

"It  would  be  bard  to  tell  the  tumult  whicb  existed  in  the  army,  in 
which  there  was  nothing  but  attack  and  defense,  with  cries  of  blood 
and  vengeance,  so  that  the  uproar  of  men  and  weapons  made  both 
shore  and  sky  resound.  Carlo  announced  his  arrival  by  the  sound  of 
trumpets,  calling  upon  the  soldiers  to  pause  and  listen  to  what  their 
captain  had  to  say.  His  voice  as  soon  as  it  was  heard  so  stilled  that 
commotion  that  the  storm  seemed  in  a  moment  to  turn  into  a  calm; 
and  every  one,  of  whatever  grade,  rushed  to  him  exposing  his  griev- 
ances, and  demanding,  one  justice,  the  other  revenge.  There  were 
many  among  thera  who  had  served  under  him  in  other  wars,  and  were 
familiar  with  him." 

To  these  excited  and  threatening  men  he  made  a  judicious 
speech  appealing  at  once  to  their  generosity  and  their  pru- 
dence, pointing  out  the  embarrassed  circumstances  of  the 
senate,  and  the  ingratitude  of  those  who  received  its  pay, 
yet  added  to  its  troubles;  and  finally  succeeded  in  making  a 
truce  until  there  was  time  to  inquire  in  all  their  grievances. 
When  he  had  soothed  them  for  the  moment  into  calm,  he 
turned  to  the  senate  for  the  one  sole  means  which  his  ex- 
perience taught  him  could  keep  these  unruly  bands  in  order. 
He  had  been  told  when  his  commission  was  given  to  him 
that  **  it  appeared  to  these  fathers  (the  senate)  that  it  was 
his  duty  to  serve  the  republic  without  pay,"  which  was 
scarcely  an  encouraging  preliminary  for  a  demand  on  their 
finances.  Carlo,  however,  did  not  hesitate;  He  wrote  to 
the  senate  informing  them  of  his  temporary  success  with 
the  soldiery,  and  suggesting  that  like  medicine  in  the 
hands  of  a  doctor,  money  should  be  used  to  heal  this  wound. 
To  nuike  the  proposal  less  disagreeable  to  the  poverty- 
striken  state,  he  offered  himself  to  undertake  the  half  of 
the  burden,  and  to  give  five  hundred  ducats  to  be  divided 
among  the  soldiers,  if  the  senate  would  do  the  same;  to 
which  the  rulers  of  Venice — partly  moved  by  the  neces- 
sities of  the  case  and  partly  by  his  arguments,  and  that  the 
republic  might  not  seem  less  liberal  than  a  simple  citizen 


166  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

— consented,  and  peace  was  accordingly  established  among 
the  always  exacting  mercenaries.  Peace,  however,  lasted 
only  for  a  time;  and  it  gives  us  a  lively  impression  of  the 
troubles  of  mediaeval  powers  with  these  artificial  armies,  to 
trace  the  violent  scenes  which  were  periodically  going  on 
behind  all  other  difficulties,  from  this  cause. 

When  Carlo  finally  got  his  army  in  motion,  and  landed 
them  on  the  edge  of  the  shore  at  Ohioggia,  he  found  oc- 
casion almost  immediately  to  strike  a  telling  blow.  Under- 
standing by  the  signals  made  that  the  enemy  intended  to 
make  a  sally  from  two  points  at  once — from  Brondolo  on 
one  side,  and  from  the  city  of  Chioggia  on  the  other — he 
at  once  arranged  his  order  of  battle;  placing  the  English, 
French,  and  Germans  on  the  side  toward  Chioggia,  while 
the  Italians  faced  the  party  coming  from  Brondolo.  It 
would  seem  from  this  that  Carlo's  confidence  in  his  own 
countrymen  was  greater  than  in  the  strangers;  for  the  sally- 
ing band  from  Chioggia  had  to  cross  a  bridge  over  a  canal, 
and  therefore  lay  under  a  disadvantage  of  which  he  was 
prompt  to  avail  himself. 

The  following  scene  has  an  interest,  independent  of  the 
quaint  story,  to  the  English  reader: 

"When  Carlo  saw  tliis"  (the  necessity  of  crossing  the  bridge)  "he 
was  filled  with  great  hope  of  a  victory,  and  adding  a  number  of  the 
middle  division  to  the  Italians,  he  himself  joined  the  foreign  band, 
and  having  had  experience  of  the  courage  and  truth  of  the  English 
captain  whose  name  was  William,  called  by  his  countrymen  il  Coquo" 
(Cook  ?  or  Cock  ?),  "he  called  him  and  consulted  with  him  as  to  the  tac- 
tics of  the  enemy,  and  how  they  were  to  be  met,  and  finding  that  he 
was  of  the  same  opinion,  Carlo  called  the  soldiers  together"  (aparla- 
mento)  "  and  addressed  them  thus." 

Carlo's  speeches,  it  must  be  allowed,  are  a  little  long- 
winded.  Probably  the  bishop,  his  grandson,  with  plenty 
of  leisure  on  his  hands,  did  not  reflect  that  it  must  have 
been  a  dangerous  and  useless  expedient  to  keep  soldiers  a 
parlamentOf  however  energetic  the  words  were,  when  the 
enemy  was  visibly  beginning  to  get  over  the  bridge  in  face 
of  them.  We  feel  when  these  orations  occur  something  as 
spectators  occasionally  do  at  an  opera,  when  in  defiance  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  16? 

common  sense  tlie  conspirators  pause  to  roar  forth  a  martial 
ditty  at  the  moment  when  any  whisper  might  betray  them, 
or  the  lovers  perform  an  elaborate  duo  when  they  ought  to 
be  running  away  with  all  speed  from  the  villain  who  is  at 
their  heels.  Probably  the  hero's  speech  was  very  much 
shorter  than  his  descendant  makes  it — just  long  enough, 
let  us  suppose,  with  William  the  Cock  at  his  elbow,  who 
would  naturally  have  no  faith  in  speechifying  at  such  a 
moment,  to  let  the  Genoese  get  completely  started  upon 
that  bridge  which,  though  assai  largo,  allowed  the  passage 
of  but  a  small  number  abreast.  The  enemy  themselves 
came  on  gayly,  with  the  conviction  that,  taken  thus  between 
assailants  on  two  sides.  Carlo  would  lose  heart  and  fly — and 
had  passed  a  number  of  their  men  over  the  bridge  before 
the  Venetian  army  moved.  Then  suddenly  Carlo  flung  his 
forces  upon  them  with  a  great  shouting  and  sound  of  trum- 
pets. **  The  English  were  the  first  who  with  a  rush  and 
with  loud  cries  assailed  the  adversaries,  followed  by  the 
others  with  much  readiness  and  noise  (romore.y  The 
Genoese,  taken  by  surprise,  resisted  but  faintly  from  the 
first,  and  driven  back  upon  the  advancing  files  already  on 
the  bridge,  were  disastrously  and  tragically  defeated — the 
crowd,  surging  up  in  a  mass,  those  who  were  coming  con- 
fused and  arrested,  those  who  were  flying  pushed  on  by  the 
pursuers  behind,  until  with  the  unwonted  weight  the 
bridge  broke,  and  the  whole  fighting,  flying  mass  was 
plunged  into  the  canal.  The  division  which  approached 
from  Brondolo  was  not  more  fortunate.  On  seeing  the 
rout  of  their  companions  they  too  broke  and  fled  con 
velocissimi  corsi,  as  it  seems  to  have  been  the  universal 
habit  to  do  in  the  face  of  any  great  danger — the  fact  that 
discretion  was  the  better  part  of  \alor  being  apparently 
recognized  by  all  without  any  shame  inputting  the  maxim 
into  practice.  This  victory  would  seem  to  have  been  de- 
cisive. The  tables  were  turned  with  a  rapidity  which  is 
strongly  in  contrast  with  the  lingering  character  of  all  mili- 
tary operations  in  this  age.  /  Veneziaiii  di  vinti  diventa- 
ro/io  I'tViaYo?'?*,  the  vanquished  becoming  victors:  and  the 
Genoese  lost  courage  and  hope  all   at   once.     The  greater 


168  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

part  of  tliem  turned  tlieir  eyes  toward  Padua  as  the  nearest 
place  of  salvation,  and  many  fled  by  the  marshes  and  difficult 
tortuous  water  passages,  in  which  they  were  caught  by  the 
pursuing  barks  of  the  Venetians  and  those  Chioggiotes  whom 
the  invaders  had  driven  from  their  dwelliugs.  Of  thirteen 
thousand  combatants  who  were  engaged  in  the  ziiffa  here 
described,  six  thousand  only,  we  are  told,  found  safety 
within  the  walls  of  Chioggia.  Bishop  Jacopo  improves 
the  occasion  with  professional  gravity,  yet  national  pride. 
*'And  certainly,"  he  says,  ^^there  could  not  have  been  a 
greater  example  of  the  changeableness  of  human  affairs 
tlian  that  those  who  a  little  time  before  had  conquered  the 
fleets,  overcome  with  much  slaughter  all  who  opposed  them 
taken  and  occupied  the  city,  despised  the  conditions  of 
peace  offered  to  them,  and  made  all  their  arrangements  for 
putting  Venice  to  sack,  in  full  confidence  of  issuing  forth 
in  their  galleys  and  leading  back  their  armies  by  the  shore, 
proud  of  the  hosts  which  they  possessed  both  by  land  and 
sea — now  broken  and  spent,  having  lost  all  power  and 
every  help,  fled  miserably,  wandering  by  dead  waters  and 
muddy  marshes  to  seek  out  ferries  and  hiding  places,  nor 
even  in  flight  finding  salvation.  Such  are  the  inconsistancy 
and  changeableness  of  human  things." 

AVe  cannot  but  sympathize  with  the  profound  satisfaction 
of  the  bishop  in  thus  pointing  his  not  very  original  moral 
by  an  event  so  entirely  gratifying  to  his  national  feelings. 

This  sudden  victor}^,  however,  as  it  proved,  was,  if 
decisive,  by  no  means  complete,  the  Genoese  who  remained 
still  obstinately  holding  their  own  within  the  shelter  of 
their  fortifications.  It  was  in  February  that  the  above- 
recorded  events  occurred,  and  it  was  not  till  June  that 
Chioggia,  was  finally  taken:  a  delay  to  be  attributed,  in 
great  part  at  least,  to  the  behavior  of  the  mercenaries. 
No  sooner  was  the  first  flush  of  delight  in  the  unaccustomed 
triumph  over,  than  the  troops  who  had  done  their  duty  so 
well  again  turned  upon  their  masters.  On  being  ordered 
by  sound  of  trumpet  to  put  themselves  in  motion  and 
establish  their  camp  under  the  walls  of  Chioggia,  these 
soldiers  of  fortune  bluntly  refused.     'J'he  captains  of  the 


THK  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  169 

(lifFerent  bands  sought  Carlo  in  his  tent,  where  two  prov- 
veditori,  sent  by  the  senate  to  congratulate  him,  and  to 
urge  him  to  follow  up  his  victory,  were  still  with  him. 
Their  message  was  a  very  practical  one.  They  rejoiced  that 
their  victory  had  been  so  helpful  to  the  republic,  which  they 
regarded  with  great  reverence  and  affection,  ready  at  all 
times  to  fight  her  battles:  but  they  thought  that  in  the 
general  joy  the  senate  might  very  becomingly  cheer  the 
soldiers  by  a  present  qualche  donativo — something  like 
double  pay,  for  example,  for  the  month  in  which  the  vic- 
tory had  been  won.  This  would  be  very  grateful  and 
agreeable  to  all  ranks,  the  captains  intimated,  and  whatever 
dangerous  work  there  might  be  to  do  afterward  the 
authorities  should  find  them  always  ready  to  obey  orders 
and  bear  themselves  valorously:  but  if  not  granted,  not  a 
step  would  they  make  from  the  spot  where  they  now  stood. 
To  this  claim  there  was  nothing  to  be  said  but  consent. 
Once  more  Carlo  had  to  use  all  his  powers,  con  huone  parole 
di  addolcire  glianimi  loro,  for  he  was  aware  *'  by  long  trial 
and  practice  of  war  that  soldiers  have  hard  heads  and 
obstinate  spirits."  He  therefore  addressed  himself  once 
more  to  the  republic,  urging  the  prudence  of  yielding  this 
donativo  lest  worse  should  come  of  it,  adding  '^  that  he, 
according  to  his  custom,  would  contribute  something  from 
his  own  means  to  lighten  the  burden  to  the  republic." 
Such  scenes,  ever  recurring,  show  how  precarious  was  the 
hold  of  any  authority  over  these  lawless  bands,  and  what 
power  to  exact  and  to  harass  was  in  their  merciless 
hands. 

Some  time  later,  when  the  Genoese  shut  up  in  Chioggia 
had  been  well  nigh  driven  to  desperation,  a  rescuing  fleet  of 
thirty  galleys  laden  with  provisions  and  men  having  been 
driven  off  and  every  issue  closed  either  by  sea  or  land,  the 
mutinous  free  lances  appear  on  the  scene  again — this  time 
in  the  still  more  dangerous  guise  of  traitors.  *'  The  merce- 
naries were  not  at  all  desirous  that  the  Genoese  should  gfve 
themselves  up,  being  aware  that  tlieir  occupation  and  pay 
would  be  stopped  by  the  conclusion  of  the  war."  This  fear 
led  them  to  open  negotiations  with  the  besieged,  and  to 


170  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

keep  up  their  courage  with  false  hopes,  the  leaders  of  the 
conspirators  promising  so  to  act  as  that  they  might  have 
at  least  better  conditions  of  surrender.  A  certain  Robert 
of  Recanati  was  at  tlie  head  of  these  unfaithful  soldiers. 
Carlo,  who  seems  to  have  kept  up  a  secret  intelligence 
department  such  as  was  highly  necessary  with  such  dubious 
servants,  discovered  the  conspiracy,  and  that  there  was  an 
intention  among  them  of  taking  advantage  of  a  parade  of 
the  troops  for  certain  mutinous  manifestations.  The  wisdom 
and  patience  of  the  leader,  anxious  in  all  things  for  the 
success  of  his  enterprise  and  the  safety  of  the  republic,  and 
dealing  with  the  utmost  caution  with  the  treacherous  and 
unreasoning  men  over  whom  he  held  uneasy  sway,  comes 
out  conspicuously  in  these  encounters.  Carlo  forbade  the 
parade,  but  finding  that  the  mutineers  pretended  to  be 
unaware  of  its  postponement,  took  advantage  of  their 
appearance  armed  and  in  full  battle  array  to  remonstrate 
and  reason  with  them.  While  the  men  in  general,  over- 
awed by  their  general's  discovery  of  their  conspiracy  and 
abashed  by  his  dignified  reproof,  kept  silence,  Robert, 
ferocious  in  his  madness  and  hot  blood,  sprang  to  the  front, 
and  facing  Carlo,  adroitly  pressed  once  more  the  ever- 
repeated  exactions.  "  We  come  to  you  armed  and  in  order 
of  battle,"  he  said,  '^  as  you  see,  to  demand  double  pay  till 
the  end  of  the  war.  We  are  determined  to  have  it,  and 
have  sworn,  by  whatsoever  means,  to  obtain  it;  and  if  it  is 
denied  to  us  we  warn  you  that  with  banners  flying,  and 
armed  as  you  see  us,  we  will  go  over  to  Chioggia  to  the 
enemy."  The  much-tried  general  was  greatly  disturbed  by 
this  defiance,  but  had  no  resource  save  to  yield. 

"  Believing  it  to  be  better  to  moderate  with  prudence  the  impetu- 
osity of  this  hot  blood,  without  showing  any  alarm,  with  cheerful 
countenance  and  soft  words  Carlo  replied  that  nothing  would  induce 
him  to  believe  that  these  words  were  spoken  in  earnest,  knowing  the 
go»)d  faith  and  generosity  of  the  speaker's  mind,  and  believing  that 
they  were  said  only  to  try  him  ;  that  he  had  good  reason  for  believing 
this,  since  otherwise  Robert  would  have  committed  a  great  villainy  and 
introduced  the  worst  example,  such  as  it  was  impossible  a  man  of  his 
high  reputation  could  intend  to  do.     Nor  could  the  senate  ever  believe 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  171 

it  of  liim,  having  always  expected  and  thought  most  highly  of  him 
and  rewarded  him  largely  according  to  the  faith  they  had  in  his 
trustworthiness  and  experience  in  the  art  of  war  ;  for  nothing  ren- 
dered soldiers  more  dear  to  the  republic  than  that  good  faith  which 
procured  them  from  the  said  republic  and  other  princes  great  gifts 
and  donations.  If  soldiers  were  indifferent  to  the  failure  and  viola- 
tion of  this  faith,  who  could  confide  to  their  care  the  safety  of  the 
state,  of  the  women  and  children?  Therefore  he  adjured  them  to  lay 
down  their  arms,  and  he  would  watch  over  their  interests  and  inter- 
cede for  them  with  the  senate.  While  Carlo  thus  mildly  addressed 
them  the  multitude  renewed  their  uproar,  opposing  him  furiously 
and  repeating  the  cry  of  double  pay,  which  they  demanded  at  the 
top  of  their  voices,  and  certain  stnndard-bearers  posted  among  them 
raised  their  banners,  crying  out  that  those  who  were  of  that  opinion 
should  follow  them  ;  to  whom  Carlo  turned  smiling,  and  declared 
'  That  he  also  was  on  that  side,  and  promised  if  they  were  not  con- 
tented to  fight  under  their  ensigns.'" 

While  this  struggle  was  still  going  on,  the  general,  with 
a  smile  on  his  lips  but  speechless  anxiety  in  his  heart, 
facing  the  excited  crowd  which  any  touch  miglit  precipi- 
tate into  open  mutiny  beyond  his  control,  a  sudden  diver- 
sion occurred  which  gave  an  unhoped  for  termination  to 
the  scene.  The  manner  in  which  Carlo  seized  the  occa- 
sion, his  boldness,  promptitude,  and  rapid  comprehension 
of  an  occurrence  which  might  under  less  skillful  guidance 
have  turned  the  balance  in  the  opposite  direction,  show 
how  well  he  deserved  his  reputation.  The  Genoese,  who 
had  been  warned  by  secret  emissaries  that  on  this  day  the 
mercenaries  intended  some  effort  in  their  favor,  and  prob- 
ably perceiving  from  their  battlements  that  something  un- 
usual was  going  on  in  the  camp,  seized  the  moment  to  make 
a  desperate  attempt  at  escape.  They  had  prepared  about 
eighty  small  vessels,  such  as  were  used  to  navigate  the 
passages  among  the  marshes,  and  filled  them  with  every- 
thing of  value  they  possessed  in  preparation  for  such  an 
occasion.  The  propitious  moment  seeming  now  to  pre- 
sent itself,  they  embarked  hastily  and  pushing  out  into 
the  surrounding  waters,  seeking  the  narrowest  and  least- 
known  passages,  stole  forth  from  the  beleaguered  city. 
*' But  vain,"  cries  the  pious  bishop,  '*  are  the  designs  of 
miserable  man  T' 


172  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

"  The  boatmen,  whose  attention  was  fixed  upon  every  movement 
within  the  walls,  had  already  divined  what  was  going  on,  and  with 
delight  perceiving  them  issue  forth,  immediately  gave  chase  in  their 
light  barks,  giving  warning  of  the  escape  of  the  enemy  with  shout- 
ing and  a  great  uproar.  And  already  the  cry  rose  all  around,  and 
the  struggle  between  the  fugitives  and  their  pursuers  had  begun, 
when  Carlo,  fired  by  the  noise  and  clash  of  arms,  suddenly  turned 
upon  the  soldiers, and  with  stern  face  and  terrible  eyes  addressed 
them  in  another  tone.  *  What  madness  is  this,'  he  cried,  '  cowards, 
that  keeps  you  standing  still  while  the  enemy  pushes  forth  before 
your  eyes  laden  with  gold  and  silver  and  precious  things,  while  you 
stand  and  look  on  chattering  like  children  !'  Upon  which  he  ordered 
the  banners  to  move  on,  and  with  a  great  voice,  so  that  the  whole 
army  could  hear  him,  commanding  all  who  kept  faith  with  the  re- 
public to  follow  him  against  the  enemy.  Without  loss  of  time,  with 
his  flag  carried  before  him,  he  among  the  first  rushed  to  the  marshes, 
plunging  breast  high  in  the  water  and  mud,  and  his  voice  and  the 
impetuosity  with  which  he  called  them  to  their  senses  and  rushed 
forth  in  their  front  had  so  great  a  power  that  the  whole  army,  for- 
getting their  complaint,  followed  their  captain,  flinging  themselves 
upon  the  enemy,  and  thus,  with  little  trouble,  almost  all  fell  into 
Carlo's  hands.  The  booty  thus  obtained  was  so  great  that  never  had 
there  been  greater,  nor  was  anything  left  that  could  increase  the  vic- 
tory and  the  fury  until  night  fell  upon  the  work.  In  this  way  and 
by  this  means  was  an  end  made  of  the  controversy  of  that  day." 

This  accidental  settlement  however  was  only  for  the 
moment.  Robert  of  Recanati  was  not  to  be  so  easily  driven 
from  his  purpose.  The  remnant  of  the  imprisoned  and 
discouraged  Genoese,  greatly  diminislied  by  these  succes- 
sive defeats  and  now  at  the  last  point  of  starvation,  were 
about  to  send  messengers  to  the  doge  with  their  submis- 
sion, when  he  and  the  other  conspirators,  seducing  tlie 
soldiers  in  increasing  numbers  to  their  side,  by  prophecies 
of  the  immediate  disbandment  which  was  to  be  anticipated 
if  the  war  were  thus  brought  to  an  end,  and  promises  of 
continued  service  in  the  other  case — again  hurried  their 
movements  to  the  brink  of  an  outbreak.  Carlo,  who  w^as 
advised  of  all  that  happened  by  his  spies,  at  last  in  alarm 
informed  the  senate  of  his  fears,  who  sent  a  deputation  of 
two  of  their  number  to  address  the  captains  and  mitigare 
gli  animi  dei  soldati  C07i  qualche  donativo  the  one  motive 
which  had  weight  with  them.   This  process  seemed  again  so 


FOMDAMENTA  ZEK. 


To  face  page  172. 


THE  MAKERS  OB  VENICE.  173 

far  successful  that  the  captains  in  general  accepted  the  mol- 
lifying gift  and  undertook  to  secure  the  fidelity  of  their  men 
— all  but  Robert,  who,  starting  to  his  feet  in  the  midst  of 
the  assembly,  protested  tliat  nothing  would  make  him  con- 
sent to  the  arrangement,  and  rushed  forth  into  the  camp 
to  rouse  to  open  rebellion  the  men  who  were  disposed  to 
follow  him.  Carlo,  perceiving  the  imminent  danger, 
rushed  forth  after  him  and  had  him  seized,  and  was  about 
to  apply  the  rapid  remedy  of  a  military  execution,  when 
the  deputation  from  Venice — popular  orators  perhaps, 
trembling  for  their  reputation  as  peacemakers  and  friends 
of  the  soldiers — threw  themselves  before  the  angry  general 
and  implored  mercy  for  the  rebel.  Against  his  better 
judgment  Carlo  yielded  to  their  prayers.  But  it  was  very 
soon  proved  how  foolish  this  clemency  was,  since  the  same 
afternoon,  the  orators  being  still  in  the  tents,  the  sound  of 
cx\Q%,Arme!  Arme! 'd\\(\  Sacco!  resounded  through  the 
camp,  and  it  soon  became  apparent  that  a  rush  was  about 
to  be  made  upon  Chioggia  without  discipline  or  pre- 
arrangement,  a  number  of  tlie  troops  following  Robert  and 
his  fellow  conspirators  in  hope  of  a  sack  and  plunder,  and 
in  spite  of  all  the  general  could  say.  When  Carlo  found 
it  impossible  to  stop  this  wild  assault,  he  sent  a  trusted 
retainer  of  his  own  to  mix  in  the  crowd  and  bring  a  report 
of  all  that  went  on.  This  trusty  emissary,  keeping  close 
to  Robert,  was  a  witness  of  the  meeting  held  by  the  con- 
spirators with  the  Genoese  leaders  under  cover  of  this  raid, 
and  heard  it  planned  between  them  how  on  that  very 
night,  after  the  Venetian  mercenaries  had  been  driven 
back,  a  sudden  attack  should  be  made  by  the  Genoese  on 
the  camp  with  the  assistance  of  the  traitors  within  it,  so 
that  the  rout  and  desti  notion  of  the  besiegers  should  be  cer- 
tain and  the  way  of  exit  from  Chioggia  be  thrown  open. 
The  soldiers  streamed  back  defeated  into  the  camp  when 
the  object  of  the  raid  had  been  thus  accomplished,  the 
poor  dupes  of  common  men,  spoiled  of  their  arms  and  even 
clothes  by  the  desperate  garrison,  while  Robert  aiid  his 
friends  returned  ''almost  naked  "  to  carry  out  the  decep- 
tion.    Carlo  met  them  as  they  came  back   in  broken  par- 


174  THE  MAKFJIS  OF  VENICE. 

ties  with   every  appearance   of   rout,  and    in  a  few  strong 
words  upbraided  them  witli  their  folly  and   rashness  ;  but 
when    he  heard   the   story  of   his  spy,  the   gravity  of  the 
position   became   fully  apparent.     Night  was  already  fall- 
ing, and  the  moment  approaching  when  the  camp  unpre- 
pared might  have  to  sustain  the  hist   despairing  assault  of 
the  besieged,  for  whom  life  and  freedom    hung  upon  the 
possibility  of  success,  combined  with  the  still  more  alarm- 
ing danger  of  treachery  within.   The  soldiers  were  at  supper 
and   occupied,  those  who  had   come  back   from  Chioggia 
probably  lamenting  their  losses,  and  consoling  themselves 
with  hopes  of  the  sack  of  the  town,  which  Robert  had  used 
as  one   of   his  lures — when  the  captains  of  the  mounted 
troops  (which   is  what  we  imagine  to   be  the   meaning  of 
the  expression  ^'  i  capi  degli  uomini  d'arme — de  fante  no, 
perclie  sapeva  die  tutti  erano  nella  congiura"),  leaving  their 
own  meal,  stole   toward  the  generaFs   tent  in  the  quiet  of 
the  brief   twilight.     Carlo  made   them  a  vigorous  speech, 
more  brief  than  his  ordinary  addresses,  first  thankiug  and 
cougratulating  them   on  their   former   exploits   and  their 
fidelity  to  the  republic  ;  then  layiug  before  them  the  dis- 
covery he  had  made,  the  risk  that  all  they  had  done  might 
be  lost  through  the  treachery  of  one  among  them,  and  the 
desperate  necessity  of  the  case.     The  captains,  startled  by 
the  sudden  summons,  and  by  the  incidents  of  the  day,  sat 
round  him,  with  tlieir  eyes  fixed  upon  their  leader,  hear- 
ing with   consternation  his  extraordinary  statement,  and 
for  the  moment  bewildered  by  the  revelation  of   treachery 
and  by  the  suddenness  of   the  peril.     This  moment,  upon 
which  hung  the  safety  of  the  Venetian  name  and  the  de- 
cisive issue  of   the   long  struggle,  must  have  been  one  of 
overwhelming  anxiety  for  the   sole  Venetian  among  them, 
the  only  man   to  whom  it  was   a  question  of  life  or  death, 
the  patriot  commander  unassured  of  what  reply  these  dan- 
gerous subordinates  might   make.     But   he  was  not  kept 
long  in  suspense. 

*'  There  was  a  certain  captain  among  the  others  called  William,  of 
Britannic  origin.     He,  who  was  a  man  of  great  valor  and  the  greatest 


TUE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  175 

fidelity,  rose  to  his  feet  ,  and  looking  round  upon  them  all,  spoke 
thus  :  'Your  words,  oh  general  {imperatore),  have  first  rejoiced  and 
then  grieved  us.  It  rejoiced  us  to  hear  that  you  have  so  much  faith 
in  us,  and  in  our  love  and  devotion  to  your  republic,  than  which  we 
could  desire  no  better — and  for  this  wo  thank  you  with  all  our  hearts. 
We  have  known  you  always  not  only  as  our  general  and  leader  {im- 
peratore  e  duce),  but  as  our  father,  and  it  grieves  us  that  there  should 
be  among  us  men  so  villainous  as  those  of  whom  you  tell  us.  It  appals 
my  soul  to  hear  what  you  say  ;  and  for  my  own  part  there  is  nothing 
I  am  not  ready  to  do  in  view  of  the  hardihood  of  the  offender,  of  our 
peril,  and  the  discipline  of  our  army,  matters  which  cannot  be  treated 
without  shame  of  the  military  art.  But  you  are  he  who  have  always 
overcome  by  your  care  and  vigilance,  and,  with  that  genius  which 
almost  passes  mortal,  have  always  secured  the  common  safety,  de- 
fended us  from  ill  fortune  and  from  our  enemies,  and  trusted  in  our 
good  faith.  We  can  never  cease  to  thank  you  for  these  things,  and 
God  grant  that  the  time  may  come  when  we  shall  do  more  than 
thank  you.  In  the  meantime  we  are  yours,  we  are  in  your  power; 
we  were  always  yours,  and  now  more  than  ever  ;  make  of  us  what 
pleases  you.  And  now  tell  us  the  names  of  those  who  have  offended 
you,  let  us  know  who  are  these  scoundrels  and  villains,  and  you  shall 
see  that  the  faith  you  have  had  in  us  is  well-founded.'  " 

It  is  satisfactory  to  find  our  unknown  countryman  taking 
this  manly  part.  Robert  was  sent  for,  the  entire  assembly 
echoing  the  Englishman's  words;  and  when  the  traitor's 
explanations  had  been  summarily  stopped  by  a  gag,  Carlo 
and  his  faithful  captains  came  out  of  the  general's  quarters 
with  a  shout  for  the  republic,  calling  their  faithful  followers 
round  them,  and  a  short  but  sharp  encounter  followed,  in 
which  the  conspirators  were  entirely  subdued.  The  Genoese 
meanwhile,  watching  from  their  walls  for  the  concerted 
signal,  and  perplexed  by  the  sounds  of  battle,  soon  learned 
by  flying  messengers  that  the  plot  was  discovered  and  their 
allies  destroyed.  An  unconditional  surrender  followed,  and 
the  invaders,  who  had  for  ten  months  been  masters  of 
Chioggia,  and  for  half  that  time  at  least  had  held  Venice 
in  terror  and  had  her  in  their  power,  driving  the  mistress 
of  the  seas  to  the  most  abject  despair,  were  now  hurried 
off  ignominiously  in  every  available  barge  and  fisherman's 
coble,  rude  precursors  of  the  gondola,  to  prison  in  Venice — 
five  thousand  of  them.  Bishop  Jacopo  says.  He  adds,  that 
after  their  long  starvation  they  ate  ravenously,  and  that 


176  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  greater  part  of  them  died  in  consequence,  a  statement 
to  be  received  with  much  reserve.  Sabellico  tells  us  that 
four  thousand  men  altogether  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
republic,  three  thousand  of  whom  were  Genoese.  The 
soldiers  among  them,  mercenaries  no  doubt  and  chiefly 
foreigners,  had  their  arms  taken  from  them  and  were  al- 
lowed to  go  free.  The  plunder  was  taken  to  the  church  of 
S.  Maria,  and  there  sold  by  auction,  the  Venetians  fixing 
the  price,  which  was  handed  over  to  the  soldiers,  the 
chroniclers  say.  One  wonders  if  the  bargains  to  be  had 
under  these  circumstances  satisfied  the  citizens  to  whom 
this  siege  had  cost  so  much. 

It  would  be  interesting,  though  sad,  to  follow  the  fate  of 
these  prisoners,  shut  up  in  dungeons  which  it  is  not  at  all 
likely  were  much  better  than  the  pozzi  at  present  exhibited 
to  shrinking  visitors,  though  these  prisons  did  not  then 
exist.  They  had  no  Marco  Polo,  no  chosen  scribe  among 
them  to  make  their  misery  memorable.  The  war  lasted 
another  year,  during  which  there  were  moments  in  which 
their  lives  were  in  extreme  peril.  At  one  time  a  rumor 
ros3  of  cruelties  practiced  by  the  Genoese  upon  the  Vene- 
tian prisoners,  many  of  whom  were  reported  to  have  died 
of  hunger  and  their  bodies  to  have  been  thrown  into  the 
sea — news  which  raised  a  great  uproar  in  Venice,  the 
people  breaking  into  the  prisons  and  being  with  difficulty 
prevented  from  a  general  massacre  of  the  prisoners,  who 
were  punished  for  the  supposed  sin  of  their  compatriots  by 
losing  all  comforts  and  conveniences  and  being  reduced  to 
bread  and  water,  the  women  who  had  cooked  their  food 
**  for  pity ^' being  ordered  away.  Afterward  however  the 
city,  according  to  ancient  custom,  had  compassion,  and 
restored  to  them  everything  of  which  they  had  been  de- 
prived. On  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  when  peace  was 
made  and  the  prisoners  exchanged,  there  is  a  little 
record  which  shows,  however  far  behind  us  were  these 
mediaeval  ages,  that  charity  to  our  enemies  is  not, 
as  some  people  think,  an  invention  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  17? 

"  The  Venetian  ladies  (matrone)  collected  among  themselves 
money  enough  to  supply  the  Genoese,  who  were  almost  naked,  with 
coats,  shirts,  shoes,  and  stockings,  and  other  things,  necessary  for 
their  personal  use  before  their  departue,  that  they  might  not  have 
any  need  to  beg  by  the  way,  and  also  furnished  them  with  provisions 
for  their  journey.  And  those  who  were  thus  seui  back  to  their 
home  were  of  the  number  of  fifteen  hundred." 


Half  of  the  prisoners,  it  would  thus  appear,  perished 
within  the  year. 

The  war  with  Genoa  did  not  end  with  the  restoration  of 
Chioggia,  but  it  was  carried  on  henceforward  in  distant 
waters  and  among  the  Dalmatian  towns  and  islands.  Carlo 
Zeno  himself  was  sent  to  take  at  all  hazards  a  certain 
castle  of  Marano,  against  his  own  will  and  judgment  aud 
failed,  as  he  had  previously  assured  his  masters  he  must 
fail :  and  there  were  many  troubles  on  the  side  of  Treviso, 
which  Veuice  presented  to  Duke  Leopold  of  Austria,  in 
order  to  preserve  it  from  the  Carrarese,  now  tlie  obstinate 
enemies  of  the  republic.  Here  the  difiiculties  with  the 
Condottieri  reappeared  again,  but  in  a  less  serious  way. 
The  soldiers  whose  pay  was  in  arrears,  and  who,  hearing  of 
the  proposed  transfer,  felt  themselves  in  danger  of  falling 
between  two  stools,  and  getting  pay  from  neither  side, 
confided  their  cause  to  a  certain  Borate  Malaspina,  who 
presented  himself  before  the  Venetian  magistrates  of 
Treviso,  and  set  his  conditions  before  them.  **  We  have 
decided,"  he  said,  'Mn  consideration  of  the  dignity  of  the 
Venetian  name  and  the  good  faith  of  the  soldiers,  to  take 
our  own  affairs  in  hand,  and  in  all  love  and  friendship  to 
ask  for  our  pay.  We  have  decided  to  remain  each  man  at 
his  post  until  one  of  you  goes  to  Venice  for  the  money. 
During  this  interval  everything  shall  be  faithfully  de- 
fended and  guarded  by  us.  But  we  will  no  longer  delay, 
nor  can  we  permit  our  business  with  the  senate  to  be  con- 
ducted by  letter.  Your  presence  is  necessary  in  order 
that  everything  may  go  well.  And  we  will  await  the  re- 
turn of  him  who  shall  be  sent  to  Venice,  with  a  proper 
regard  to  the  time  necessary  for  his  coming  and  going. 
There  is  no  need  for  further  consultation  in  the  case,  for 


178  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

\yhat  we  ask  is  quite  reasonable."  The  astounded  magis- 
trates stared  at  this  bold  demand,  but  found  nothing 
better  for  it  tlian  to  obey. 

And  at  last  the  war  was  over,  and  peace,  in  which  to 
heal  her  wounds,  and  restore  her  half-ruined  trade,  and 
put  order  in  her  personal  affairs  came  to  Venice.  Accord- 
ing to  the  promise  made  in  her  darkest  hour,  thirty 
families  from  among  those  who  had  served  the  republic 
best  were  added  to  the  number  of  the  nobles.  "  Before 
they  went  to  the  palazzo  they  heard  the  divine  mass,  then, 
presenting  themselves  before  the  prince  and  senate,  swore 
to  the  republic  their  faith  mid  silence."  The  last  is  a 
remarkable  addition  to  the  oath  of  allegiance,  and  curi- 
ously characteristic  of  Venice.  ^'  Giacomo  Cavallo, 
Veronese,"  adds  Sabellico,  **  for  his  strenuous  and  faith- 
ful service  done  during  this  war,  obtained  the  same  dig- 
nity." It  was  the  highest  which  the  republic  could 
bestow. 

The  subsequent  history  of  Carlo  Zeno  we  have  entirely 
upon  the  word  of  his  descendant  and  biographer,  who,  like 
most  biographers  of  that  age,  is  chieflyintent  upon  putting 
every  remarkable  act  accomplished  in  his  time  to  the  credit 
of  his  hero.  At  the  same  time,  we  have  every  reason  to 
trust  Bishop  Jacopo,  whose  work  is  described  by  Foscarini 
as  the  most  faithful  record,  existing  of  the  war  of  Chioggia  : 
the  author,  as  that  careful  critic  adds,  **  being  a  person  of 
judgment  and  enlightenment,  and  living  at  a  period  not  far 
removed  from  these  acts."  He  was  indeed  born  before  the 
death  of  his  grandfather,  and  must  have  had  full  command 
of  all  family  memorials,  as  well  as  the  evidence  of  many 
living  persons  for  the  facts  he  records.  We  may  accord- 
ingly take  his  book,  with  perhaps  a  little  allowance  for 
natural  partiality,  as  a  trustworthy  record  of  the  many 
wonderful  vicissitudes  of  Carlo's  life.  And  whether  the 
bold  pirate-like  countenance  which  serves  as  frontispiece 
to  Quirini's  translation  of  the  bishop's  book  be  taken  from 
any  authentic  portrait  (which  is  little  likely),  there  can 
be  at  least  no  doubt  of  the  family  tradition,  which  de- 
scribes the  great  soldier-seaman  thus: 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  179 

**  He  was  square-shouldered,  broad-chested,  solidly  and 
strongly  made,  with  large  and  speaking  eyes,  and  a  manly, 
great,  and  full  countenance;  his  stature  neither  tall  nor 
short,  but  of  a  middle  size.  Nothing  was  wanting  in  his 
appearance  which  strength,  health,  decorum,  and  gravity 
demanded."  With  the  exception,  perhaps  of  the  gravity 
and  decorum,  which  are  qualities  naturally  attributed  by  a 
clergyman  to  his  grandfather,  the  description  is  true  to  all 
our  ideas  of  a  naval  hero.  At  the  time  of  the  struggle 
before  Cliioggia,  which  he  conducted  at  once  so  gallantly 
and  so  warily,  he  was  forty-five,  in  the  prime  of  his  strength: 
and  that  solid  and  steadfast  form  which  nothing  could 
shake,  those  eyes  which  met  undaunted  the  glare  of  so  many 
mutinous  troopers,  always  full  of  the  keenest  observation, 
letting  nothing  escape  them,  stand  out  as  clearly  among 
the  crowd  as  if,  forestalling  a  century,  Gentile  Bellini  had 
painted  him,  strongly  planted  upon  those  sturdy  limbs  to 
which  the  rock  of  the  high  seas  had  given  a  sailor's  double 
security  of  balance,  confronting  the  heavy,  furious  Ger- 
mans, the  excited  Frenchmen,  the  revengeful  Italians  of 
other  states,  scarcely  less  alien  to  his  own  than  i\\Q  foresti- 
eri  with  their  strange  tongues — whose  sole  bond  of  allegi- 
ance to  their  momentary  masters  was  the  double  pay,  or 
occasional  donafiuo,  which  they  exacted  as  the  price  of 
their  wavering  faith.  A  truer  type  of  the  ideal  Venetian, 
strong,  subtle,  ready-witted, prompt  inaction  and  prepared 
for  everything,  the  patriot,  pirate,  admiral,  merchant, 
general,  whichever  character  was  most  needed  at  the 
moment,  could  not  be. 

Carlo  did  not  return  to  his  merchandise  after  this  absorb- 
ing struggle.  He  was  made  captain-general  of  the  forces 
on  the  death,  not  long  after,  of  Vittor  Pisani:  and  when 
the  old  Doge  Contarini  died  he  was  for  a  time  the  favorite 
candidate  for  that  honor.  The  electors  indeed  had  all  but 
decided  in  his  favor,  the  bishop  tells  us,  when  a  certain 
Zaccaria  Contarini,  '*  a  man  of  great  authority  and  full  of 
eloquence  and  the  art  of  speech,"  addressed  an  oration  to 
them  on  the  subject.  His  argument  was  a  curious  one. 
Against  Carlo  Zeno^  he  allowed,  not  a  word  could  be  said: 


180  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

there  was  no  better  man,  none  more  worthy,  nor  of  higher 
virtue  in  all  Venice,  none  who  had  served  the  republic 
better,  or  to  whom  her  citizens  were  more  deeply  indebted; 
but  these  were  the  very  reasons  why  he  sliould  not  be  made 
doge,  for  should  another  war  arise  with  Genoa,  who  could 
lead  tlie  soldiers  of  Venice  against  her  rival  but  he  who 
was  the  scourge  of  the  Genoese,  a  man  with  whom  no  other 
could  compare  for  knowledge  of  things  naval  and  military: 
for  prudence,  judgment  fidelity  to  the  country,  greatness 
and  good  fortune?  ^'  If  you  should  bind  such  a  man  to  the 
prince's  office,  most  noble  fathers,  to  stay  at  home,  to  live 
in  quiet,  to  be  immersed  in  the  affairs  of  the  city,  tell  me 
what  other  have  you?^'  Thus  Carlo's  fame  was  used  against 
him,  ''  whether  with  a  good  intention  for  the  benefit  of  the 
republic,  or  from  envy  of  Carlo,"  Bishop  Jacopo  does  not 
undertake  to  say.  Neither  does  he  tell  us  whether  his 
illustrious  ancestor  was  disappointed  by  the  issue.  But 
when  peace  was  proclaimed,  and  there  was  no  more  work 
for  him  nor  further  promotion  possible.  Carlo  left  Venice 
and  went  forth  upon  the  world  '^  to  see  and  salute  various 
princes  throughout  Italy  with  whom  he  was  united  by  no 
common  friendship/'  A  man  so  celebrated  was  received 
with  open  arms  everywhere,  especially  where  fighting  was 
going  on,  and  made  himself  useful  to  his  princely  friends 
in  various  emergencies.  He  served  Galeazzo  Visconti  of 
Milan  in  this  way,  and  was  governor  of  that  city  for  several 
years  and  also  of  the  province  of  Piedmont,  which  was 
under  Visconti's  sway:  and  absorbed  in  such  occupations 
was  absent  from  Venice  for  ten  years,  always  with  increas- 
ing honor  and  reputation.  While  thus  occupied,  what 
seemed  a  very  trifling  incident  occurred  in  his  career. 
At  Asti  he  encountered  Francesco  da  Carrara,  the  son  of 
the  lord  of  Padua,  sometime  the  enemy  but  at  that  moment 
at  peace  with  Venice,  an  exile  and  in  great  straits  and 
trouble;  and  finding  him  sad,  anxious  and  unhappy,  and 
in  want  of  every  comfort,  per  non  mancare  aW  ufficio  di 
gentiluomo,  not  to  fail  in  the  duty  of  a  gentleman,  did  his 
best  to  encourage  and  cheer  the  exile,  and  lent  him  four 
hundred  ducats  for  his  immediate  wants.    Some  years  after. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  181 

when  Francesco  had  been  restored  to  Padua,  and  regained 
his  place,  Carlo  passed  through  that  city  on  his  way  to 
Venice,  and  was  repaid  the  money  he  had  lent.  The  inci- 
dent was  a  very  simple  one,  but  not  without  disastrous 
consequences. 

On  his  return  to  Venice  Carlo  was  again  employed  suc- 
cessfully against  the  Genoese  under  a  French  general,  that 
proud  city  having  fallen  under  the  sway  of  France — and 
covered  the  Venetian  name  once  more  with  glory.  This 
to  all  appearance  was  his  last  independent  action  as  the 
commander  of  the  forces  of  Venice.  He  was  growing  old, 
and  civil  dignities,  though  never  the  highest,  began  to  be 
awarded  to  him.  When  the  war  with  the  house  of  Carrara 
broke  out.  Carlo  Malatesta  of  Rimini,  one  of  the  great 
Condottieri  of  the  time,  held  the  chief  command,  and 
Carlo  Zeno  accompanied  the  army  only  in  the  capacity  of 
provveditore.  A  strong  military  force  was  by  this  time  in 
the  pay  of  the  republic;  but  again  as  ever  it  was  as  hard  a 
task  to  keep  them  from  fighting  among  themselves  as  to 
overcome  the  enemy.  Malatesta  threw  up  his  commission 
in  the  midst  of  the  campaign,  and  Paolo  Savello  was 
appointed  in  his  stead;  but  either  this  did  not  please  the 
mercenaries,  or  personal  feuds  among  them  breaking  out 
suddenly  on  the  occasion  of  the  change,  the  camp  was 
immediately  in  an  uproar,  and  the  different  factions  began 
to  cut  each  other  in  pieces.  Carlo  forced  his  way  into  the 
middle  of  the  fight,  and  when  he  had  succeeded  in  calming 
it  for  the  moment,  called  before  him  the  chiefs  of  the 
factions,  and  after  his  usual  custom  addressed  them.  His 
speech  is  no  longer  that  of  a  general  at  the  head  of  an 
army,  but  of  an  old  man  much  experienced  and  full  of 
serious  dignity,  before  the  restless  and  ferocious  soldiers. 
"I  thought,"  he  said,  *'  that  the  uses  and  customs  of  war 
would  have  moderated  your  minds  and  delivered  you  from 
passion;  for  there  is  true  nobleness  where  prudence  is  con- 
joined with  courage,  and  nothing  so  becomes  a  generous 
man  as  a  tranquil  modesty  and  gravity  in  military  opera- 
tions. The  shedding  of  blood  becomes  a  sordid  business  if 
not  conducted  and   accompanied  by  a  decorous  dignity." 


182  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

He  then  points  out  to  them  that  their  work  is  nearly  ac- 
complished: all  the  difficulties  have  been  overcome: 
Padua  is  closely  besieged  and  famishing,  the  end  is  at 
hand: 

"  We  Lave  come,  oh  captains,  to  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  a  fortu- 
nate end  is  near  to  your  toils  and  watches,  and  nothing  remains  but 
the  prize  and  the  victory.  What  then  would  you  have,  oh  signori  ? 
What  do  you  desire?  What  fury  moves  you  ?  Why  are  these  arms, 
which  should  subdue  the  enemy,  turned  against  each  other?  Will 
you  make  your  own  labors,  your  vigils,  your  great  efforts,  and  all 
the  difficulties  you  have  overcome  but  useless  pains,  and  the  hope  of 
success  in  so  hard  a  fight  as  vain  as  they  ?  And  can  you  endure, 
oh  strong  men,  to  see  the  work  of  so  many  months  destroyed  in  one 
hour?  I  pray  you  then,  generous  captains,  if  any  sense  of  lofty 
mind,  of  valor,  and  of  fidelity  is  in  you,  come,  lay  down  your  arms, 
calm  your  rage,  conciliate  and  pacify  the  offended,  make  an  end  of 
these  feuds  and  conflicts,  return  to  your  former  brotherliness,  and 
let  us  condone  those  injuries  done  to  the  republic  and  to  me." 

The  old  warrior  was  seventy  when  he  made  this  speech. 
Yet  it  was  he,  if  his  biographer  reports  truly,  who  had  ex- 
plored in  his  own  person  the  marshes  about  Padua,  some- 
times wading,  sometimes  swimming,  pushing  his  way 
through  bog  and  mud,  to  discover  a  way  by  which  the 
troops  could  pass.  He  had  a  right  to  plead  that  all  the 
labors  thus  gone  tlirough  should  not  be  in  vain. 

When  Padua  was  taken  Carlo  was  made  governor  of  the 
city.  The  unfortunate  Carrarese  were  taken  to  Veniceand 
imprisoned  in  San  Giorgio,  where  was  enacted  one  of  the 
darkest  scenes  in  Venetian  history.  But  with  this  Zeno 
liad  nothing  to  do.  He  left  his  post  soon  after,  a  colleague 
having  been  appointed,  in  the  belief  that  nothing  called  for 
his  presence,  and  returned  to  Venice.  The  colleague,  to 
whom  Bishop  Jacopo  gives  no  name,  among  his  other 
labors,  took  upon  him  to  examine  the  expenditure  of  the 
city  for  many  years  back,  and  there  found  a  certain  strange 
entry:  To  Carlo  Zeno,  paid  four  hundred  ducats.  No  doubt 
it  was  one  of  the  highest  exercises  of  Christian  charity  on 
the  part  of  the  bishop  to  keep  back  this  busybody's  name. 
With  all  haste  the  register  was  sent  to  Venice  to  be  placed 
before  the  terrible  Ten.     "  The  Ten,''  says  Jacopo,  "  held 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  183 

in  the  city  of  Venice  the  supreme  magistracy,  with  power 
to  punish  whomsoever  they  pleased;  and  from  their  sen- 
tence there  is  never  any  appeal  permitted  for  any  reason 
whatever,  and  all  that  they  determine  is  final,  nor  can  it 
be  known  of  any  one  whether  what  they  do  is  according  to 
reason  or  not."  Called  before  this  tribunal  Carlo  gave  the 
simple  explanation  with  whicli  the  reader  has  been  already 
furnished.  But  before  that  secret  tribunal,  his  honor,  liis 
stainless  word,  his  labors  for  his  country,  availed  him 
nothing.  Perhaps  the  men  whose  hands  had  strangled 
Francesco  da  Carrara  and  his  son  in  their  prison,  still 
thrilling  with  the  horror  of  that  deed,  felt  a  secret  pleasure 
in  branding  the  hero  of  Chioggia,  the  deliverer  of  Venice, 
her  constant  defender  and  guard,  as  a  traitor  and  miserable 
stipendiary  in  foreign  pay.  The  penalty  for  this  crime 
was  the  loss  of  all  public  place  and  rank  as  senator  or  mag- 
istrate, and  two  years  of  prison.  And  to  this  Carlo  Zeno 
was  sentenced  as  a  fitting  end  to  his  long  and  splendid 
career. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  tell,  though  our  bishop  does  it 
with  fine  suppressed  indignation,  how  the  people,  thunder- 
struck by  such  an  outrage,  both  in  Venice  itself  and  in 
the  other  surrounding  cities,  would  have  risen  against 
it: 

"  But  Carlo,"  he  adds,  "  with  marvelous  moderation  of  mind  and 
with  a  strong  and  constant  soul,  supported  the  stroke  of  envious 
fortune  without  uttering  a  complaint  or  showing  a  sign  of  anxiety,  say- 
ing solely  that  he  knew  the  course  of  human  things  to  be  unstable,  and 
that  this  which  had  happened  to  him  was  nothing  new  or  unknown, 
since  he  had  long  been  acquainted  with  the  common  fate  of  men, 
and  how  vain  was  their  wisdom,  of  how  little  value  their  honors 
and  dignities,  of  which  he  now  gave  to  all  a  powerful  example." 

But  Venice  is  not  alone  in  thus  rewarding  her  greatest 
men. 

Bishop  Jacopo  does  not  say  in  so  many  words  that  Carlo 
fulfilled  his  sentence  and  passed  two  years  in  prison;  so  we 
may  hope  tliat  even  the  Ten,  with  all  their  daring,  did  not 
venture  to  execute  the  sentence  they  had  pronounced.    All 


184  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

we  are  told  is  that  ^^as  soon  as  he  was  free  to  go  where  he 
pleased  "  he  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem,  turning  his 
soul  to  religion  and  sacred  things.  Here  a  curious  incident 
is  recorded,  to  which  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  faith  should 
be  given.  In  the  Holy  City  Carlo,  according  to  his 
biographer,  met  and  formed  a  warm  friendship  with  a 
Scotch  prince,  "  Pietro,  son  of  the  king  of  Scotland, ^^  who 
insisted,  out  of  the  love  and  honor  he  bore  him,  on  knight- 
ing the  aged  Venetian.  We  know  of  no  Prince  Peter  in 
Scottish  history,  but  he  might  have  been  one  of  the  many 
sons  of  Robert  11. ,  the  first  Stewart  king.  The  rank  of 
knight,  so  prized  among  the  northern  races,  seems  to  have 
been,  like  other  grades,  little  known  among  the  Venetians, 
the  great  distinction  between  the  noble  and  the  plebeian  be- 
ing the  only  one  existing.  To  be  made  a  knight  in  peaceful 
old  age,  after  a  warlike  career,  is  a  whimsical  incident  in 
Carlo's  life. 

But  though  he  was  old,  and  a  peaceful  pilgrim  on  a 
religious  journey,  his  hand  had  not  forgotten  its  cunning 
in  affairs  of  war;  and  on  his  way  home  he  lent  his  powerful 
aid  to  the  king  of  Cyprus,  and  once  more,  no  doubt  with 
much  satisfaction  to  himself,  beat  the  Genoese  and  saved 
the  island.  Returning  home  the  old  man,  somewhere 
between  seventy  and  eighty,  married  for  the  third  time, 
but  very  reasonably,  a  lady  of  a  noble  Istrian  family,  of 
an  age  not  unsuitable  to  his  own,  *^  for  no  other  reason 
than  to  secure  good  domestic  government,  and  a  consort 
and  companion  who  would  take  upon  herself  all  internal 
cares,  and  leave  him  free  to  study  philosophy  and  the 
sacred  writings."  Let  us  hope  that  the  old  couple  were 
happy,  and  that  the  lady  was  satisfied  with  the  position 
assigned  her.  Having  thus  provided  for  the  due  regulation 
of  all  his  affairs,  the  old  warrior  gave  himself  up  to  the 
enjoyment  of  his  evening  of  leisure.  He  made  friends 
with  all  the  doctors,  and  learned  men  of  his  day,  a  list  of 
names  eruditissimi  in  their  time,  but,  alas,  altogether 
passed  from  human  recollection  :  and  his  house  became  a 
second  court,  a  center  of  intellectual  life  in  Venice  as  well 
as  the  constant  haunt  of  honest  statesmen  and  good  citizens 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  185 

seeking  his  advice  on  public  questions  and  material  dif- 
ficulties as  they  arose.  As  for  Carlo,  he  loved  nothing  so 
much  as  to  spend  his  time  in  reading  and  writing,  and 
every  day  when  he  was  able  heard  mass  in  Sun  Stefano, 
"  nor  ever  went  out,"  adds  the  bishop  with  satisfaction, 
*' that  he  did  not  go  to  church  or  some  otlier  religions 
place."  "  In  the  cold  winter  (?ieir  orrida  egelida  invernata) 
he  had  his  bed  filled  with  books,  so  that  when  he  had  slept 
sufficiently  he  could  sit  up  in  bed,  and  pass  the  rest  of  the 
night  in  reading,  nor  would  he  put  down  his  book  save  for 
some  great  necessity."  One  wonders  what  books  the  noble 
old  seaman  had  to  read.  Scholastic  treatises  on  dry  points 
of  mediaeval  philosophy,  hair-splitting  theological  argu- 
ments most  probably.  Let  us  hope  that  there  blossomed 
between  some  saintly  legends,  some  chronicle  newly  writ- 
ten of  the  great  story  of  Venice,  perhaps  some  sonnet  of 
Petrarch's,  whom  Carlo  in  his  early  manhood  must  have 
met  on  the  Piazza,  or  seen  looking  out  from  the  windows 
on  the  Riva — or  perhaps  even  some  portion  of  the  great 
work  of  Dante  the  Florentine.  He  forgot  himself  and 
the  troubles  of  his  old  age  among  his  books;  but  before  he 
had  reached  the  profounder  quiet  of  the  grave  Carlo  had 
still  great  sorrows  to  bear.  The  worthy  wife  who  took  the 
cares  of  his  household  from  him  grew  ill  and  died,  to  his 
great  grief:  and — a  pang  still  greater — Jacopo,  his  young- 
est son,  the  father  of  the  bishop,  died  too  in  the  flower  of 
his  manhood,  at  thirty,  leaving  the  old  father  desolate. 
Another  son,  Pietro,  survived,  and  was  a  good  seaman  and 
commander;  but  it  was  upon  Jacopo  that  the  father's  heart 
was  set.  At  last,  in  1418,  at  the  age  of  eighty-four — in 
this  point  too  following  the  best  traditions  of  Venice — 
Carlo  Zeno  died,  full  of  honors  and  of  sorrows.  He  was 
buried  with  all  imaginable  pomp,  the  entire  city  joining 
the  funeral  procession.  One  last  affecting  incident  is  re- 
corded in  proof  of  the  honor  in  which  his  countrymen  and 
his  profession  held  the  aged  hero.  The  religious  orders 
claimed,  as  was  usual,  the  right  of  carrying  him  to  his 
grave:  but  against  this  the  seafaring  population,  quasi 
tutti  i  Veneziani  allevati  sul  mare,  arose  as  one  man,  and 


186  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE, 

hastening  to  the  doge  claimed  the  right  of  bearing  to  his 
last  rest  the  commander  who  had  loved  them  so  well. 
Their  prayer  was  granted:  and  with  all  the  ecclesiastical 
splendors  in  front  of  tliem,  and  all  the  pomp  of  the  state 
behind,  the  seamen  of  Venice,  i  Veneziani  sperimentati 
nelle  cose  maritime,  carried  h\m  to  his  grave;  each  relay 
watching  jealously  that  every  man  might  have  his  turn. 
This  band  of  seamen  great  and  small,  forming  the  center 
of  the  celebration,  makes  a  fitting  conclusion  to  the 
career  of  the  great  captain,  who  had  so  often  swept 
the  seas,  the  alto  mare,  of  every  flag  hostile  to  his 
city. 

But  in  modern  Venice  the  tomb  of  Carlo  Zeno  is  known 
no  more.  He  was  buried  *^inthe  celebrated  church  called 
La  Celestia/'  attached  to  a  convent  of  Cistercians,  but  long 
ago  destroyed.  Its  site  and  what  unknown  fragments  may 
remain  of  its  original  fabric  now  form  part  of  the  Arsenal 
and  there  perhaps  under  some  forgotten  stone  lie  the  bones 
of  the  great  admiral,  the  scourge  of  Genoa — not,  after  all, 
an  inappropriate  spot. 


THE  MAKEU8  OF  VKNICB.  187 


CHAPTER  III. 

BY  SEA  AND     BY     LAND — SOLDIERS     OF     FORTUNE — CAR- 
MAGNOLA. 

The  history  of  Venice  opens  into  a  totally  new  chapter 
when  the  great  republic,  somewhat  humbled  and  driven 
back  by  the  victorious  Turk  from  her  possessions  beyond 
sea,  and  maintaining  with  difficulty  her  broken  supremacy 
as  a  maritime  power,  begins  to  turn  her  eyes  toward  the 
green  and  fat  terra  firma — those  low-lying  plains  that 
supplied  her  with  bread  and  beeves,  which  it  was  so 
natural  to  wish  for,  but  so  uneasy  to  hold.  Tlie  suggestion 
that  her  enemies,  if  united,  could  cut  her  off  at  any  time 
from  her  supplies,  so  nearly  accomplished  in  the  struggle 
for  Chioggia,  was  a  most  plausible  and  indeed  reasonable 
ground  for  acquiring,  if  possible,  the  command  in  her 
own  hands  of  the  rich  Lombardy  pastures  and  fields  of 
grain.  And  when  the  inhabitants  of  certain  threatened 
cities  hastily  threw  themselves  on  her  protection  in  order 
to  escape  their  assailants,  her  acceptance  was  instantaneous 
and  it  would  seem  to  have  been  with  an  impulse  of  delight 
that  she  felt  her  foot  upon  the  mainland,  and  saw  the  pos- 
sibility within  her  power  of  establishing  a  firm  standing, 
perhaps  acquiring  a  permanent  empire  there.  It  would  bo 
hopeless  to  enter  into  the  confused  and  endless  politics  of 
Guelph  and  Ghibelline,  which  threw  a  sort  of  veil  over  the 
fact  that  every  man  was  in  reality  for  his  own  hand,  and 
that  to  establish  himself  or  his  leader  in  tlie  sovereignty  of 
a  wealthy  city,  by  help  of  either  one  faction  or  the  other, 
or  in  the  name  of  a  faction,  or  on  any  other  pretext  that 
might  be  handy,  was  the  real  purpose  of  the  captains  who 
cut  and  carved  Lombardy,  and  of  the  reigning  families 
who  had  already  established  themselves  upon  the  ashes  of 


188  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

defunct  republics  or  subdued  municipalities.  But  of  this 
there  was  no  possibility  in  Venice.  No  whites  and  blacks 
ever  struggled  in  the  canals.  The  only  rebellions  that 
touched  her  were  those  made  by  men  or  parties  endeavor- 
ing to  get  a  share  of  the  power  which  by  this  time  had 
been  gathered  tightly  beyond  all  possibility  of  moving  in 
patrician  hands.  Neither  the  pope  nor  the  emperor 
was  ever  the  watchword  of  a  party  in  the  supreme 
and  independent  city  which  dealt  on  equal  terms  with 
both. 

There  was  no  reason,  however  why  Venice  should  not 
take  advantage  of  these  endless  contentions  :  and  there  was 
one  existing  in  full  force  which  helped  to  make  the  wars 
of  the  mainland  more  easy  to  the  rich  Venetians  than  war 
had  ever  been  before.  All  their  previous  expeditions  of 
conquest,  which  had  been  neither  few  nor  small,  were  at 
the  cost  of  the  blood  as  well  as  the  wealth  of  Venice,  had 
carried  off  the  best  and  bravest,  and  even,  as  in  the  roman- 
tic story  of  the  Giustiniani,  swept  whole  families  away. 
But  this  was  no  longer  the  case  when  she  strode  upon 
terra firma  with  an  alien  general  at  her  elbow,  and  mer- 
cenary soldiers  at  her  back.  Though  they  might  not  turn 
out  very  satisfactory  in  the  long  run,  no  doubt  there  must 
have  been  a  certain  gratification  in  hiring,  so  to  speak,  a 
ready-made  army,  and  punishing  one's  enemy  and  doub- 
ling one'ri  possessions  without  so  much  as  a  scratch  on  one's 
own  person  or  the  loss  even  of  a  retainer.  The  Condottieri, 
conductors,  leaders,  captains^  of  the  wild  spirits  that  were 
to  be  found  all  over  the  world  in  that  age  of  strife  and 
warfare,  were,  if  not  the  special  creation  of,  at  least  most 
specially  adapted  for  the  necessities  of  those  rich  towns, 
always  tempting  to  the  ambitious,  always  by  their  very 
nature  exposed  to  assault,  and  at  once  too  busy  and  too 
luxurious  at  this  advanced  stage  of  their  history  to  do  their 
fighting  themselves — which  divided  Italy  among  then,  and 
which  were  each  other's  rivals,  competitors,  and  enemies, 
to  the  sad  hindrance  of  all  national  life,  but  to  the  growth, 
by  every  stimulus  of  competition,  of  arts  and  industries 
and  ways  of  getting   rich — in  which    methods  each   en- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  189 

deavored  with  the  zeal  of  personal  conflict  to  outdo  the 
rest.  The  rights,  the  liberties  and  independence  of  those 
cities  were  always  more  or  less  at  the  mercy  of  any  adven- 
turous neighboring  prince  who  had  collected  forces  enough 
to  assail  them,  or  of  the  stronger  among  their  own  fellows. 
We  must  here  add  that  between  the  horrors  of  the  first 
mercenaries,  the  Grande  Compagniay  which  carried  fire 
and  sword  tlirough  Italy,  and  made  Petrarch's  blood  run 
cold,  and  even  the  endless  turbulence  and  treachery  of  tlie 
men  whom  Carlo  Zeno  had  so  much  ado  to  master,  and 
the  now  fully  organized  and  reorganized  armies,  under 
their  own  often  famous  and  sometimes  honorable  leaders, 
there  was  a  great  difference.  The  Free  Lances  had  be- 
come a  sort  of  lawful  institution,  appropriate  and  adapted 
to  the  necessities  of  the  time. 

The  profession  of  soldier  of  fortune  is  not  one  which 
commends  itself  to  us  nowadays  ;  and  yet  there  was  noth- 
ing necessarily  in  it  dishonorable  to  the  generals  who 
carried  on  their  game  of  warfare  at  the  expense  of  the 
quarrelsome  races  which  employed  them,  but  at  wonder- 
fully little  cost  of  human  life.  No  great  principle  lay  in 
the  question  whether  Duke  Philip  of  Milan  or  the  republic 
of  Venice  sliould  be  master  of  Cremona.  One  of  them,  if 
they  wished  it,  was  bound  to  have  the  lesser  city;  and 
what  did  it  matter  to  a  general  who  was  a  Savoyard, 
coming  down  to  those  rich  plains  to  make  his  fortune, 
which  of  these  wealthy  paymasters  he  should  take  service 
under  ?  His  trade  was  perhaps  as  honest  as  that  of  the  trader 
wlio  buys  in  the  cheapest  market  and  sells  in  the  dearest 
all  the  world  over.  He  obeyed  the  same  law  of  supply  and 
demand.  He  acted  on  the  same  lively  sense  of  his  own 
interests.  If  he  transferred  himself  in  the  midst  of  the 
war  from  one  side  to  the  other  there  was  nothing  very  re- 
markable in  it,  since  neither  of  the  sides  was  his  side  ;  and 
it  was  a  flourishing  trade.  One  of  its  chief  dangers  was 
the  unlucky  accident  that  occurred  now  and  then  when  a 
general  who  failed  of  being  successful,  had  his  head  taken 
off  by  the  signoria  or  seigneur  in  whose  employment  he  was, 
probably  on  pretense  of  treason.     But  fighting  of  itself 


190  '^iiJ^  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

was  not  dangerous,  at  least  to  the  troops  engaged,  and 
spoils  were  plentiful  and  the  life  a  merry  one.  Italy, 
always  so  rich  in  the  bounties  of  nature,  had  never  been  so 
rich  as  in  these  days,  and  the  troops  had  a  succession  of 
villages  always  at  their  command,  with  the  larger  morsel  of 
a  rich  town  to  sack  now  and  then,  prisoners  to  ransom,  and 
all  the  other  chances  of  war.  Their  battles  were  rather 
exercises  of  skill  than  encounters  of  personal  opponents, 
and  it  was  not  unusal  to  achieve  a  great  feat  of  arms  with- 
out shedding  a  drop  of  blood.  The  bloodshed  was  among 
the  non-combatants — the  villagers,  the  harmless  townsfolk 
who  were  mad  enough  to  resist  them  and  not  among  the 
fighting  men. 

Such  was  the  profession,  when  a  wandering  Savoyard 
trooper — perhaps  come  home  with  his  spoils  in  filial  piety, 
or  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  a  rustic  love  with  trinkets 
dragged  from  the  ears  or  pulled  bloody  from  the  throat  of 
some  Lombard  maiden — took  note  among  the  fields  of  a 
keen-eyed  boy,  who  carried  his  shaggy  locks  with  such  an 
ariafiera,  so  proud  an  air,  that  the  soldier  saw  something 
beyond  the  common  recruit  in  this  young  shepherd  lad. 
Komance,  like  nature,  is  pretty  much  the  same  in  all 
regions;  and  young  Francesco,  the  peasant's  son,  under  the 
big  frontier  tower  of  Carmagnola,  makes  us  think  with  a 
smile  of  young  Norval  ^'on  the  Grampian  Hills" — that  noble 
young  hero  whose  history  has  unfortunately  fallen  into 
derision.  But  in  those  distant  days,  when  the  fifteenth 
century  had  just  begun,  and  through  all  the  Continent 
there  was  nothing  heard  but  the  clatter  of  mail  and  the 
tread  of  the  war-horse,  there  was  nothing  ridiculous  in  the 
idea  that  the  boy,  hearing  of  battles,  should  long  ^*to  fol- 
low to  the  field  some  warlike  lord,"  or  should  leave  the 
sheep  to  shift  for  themselves,  and  go  off  with  the  bold  com- 
panion who  had  such  stories  of  siege  and  fight  to  tell.  He 
appears  to  have  entered  at  once  the  service  of  Facino  Cane, 
one  of  the  greatest  generals  of  the  time,  under  whom  he 
rose,  while  still  quite  young,  to  some  distinction.  Such, 
at  least,  would  seem  to  have  been  the  case,  since  one  of  the 
first  notices  in  the  history  of  the  young  Piedmontese  is  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  191 

record  in  one  of  the  old  chronicles  of  a  question  put  to 
Facino — Why  did  he  not  promote  him?  To  which  the 
great  Condottiere  replied  that  he  could  not  do  so — the 
rustic  arrogance  of  Fiancesco  being  such  that  if  he 
got  one  step  he  would  never  be  satisfied  till  he  was  chief  of 
all.  For  this  reason,  though  his  military  genius  was  allowed 
full  scope,  he  was  kept  in  as  much  subjection  as  possible, 
and  had  but  ten  lances  under  him,  and  small  honor  as  far 
as  could  be  seen:  yet  was  noted  of  the  captains  as  a  man 
born  to  be  something  beyond  the  ordinary  level  when  his 
day  sliould  come. 

The  Italian  world  was  as  usual  in  a  state  of  great  dis- 
turbance in  these  days.  Giovanni  or  Gian  Galeazzo,  the 
Duke  of  Milan,  in  iiis  time  as  masterful  an  invader  as  any, 
had  died,  leaving  two  sons — the  one  who  succeeded  him, 
Gian  Maria,  being  a  feeble  and  vicious  youth,  of  whose  folly 
and  weakness  the  usual  advantages  were  soon  taken.  When 
the  young  duke  was  found  to  unable  to  restrain  them,  the 
cities  of  Lombardy  sprang  with  wonderful  unanimity  each 
into  a  revolution  of  its  own.  The  generals  who  on  occasion 
had  served  the  house  of  Visconti  faithfully  enough,  found 
now  the  opportunity  to  which  these  freelances  were  always 
looking  forward,  and  established  themselves,  each  with 
hopes  of  founding  a  new  dukedom,  and  little  independent 
dominion  of  his  own,  in  the  revolted  cities.  Piaoenza, 
Parma,  Cremona,  Lodi,  all  found  thus  a  new  sovereign, 
with  an  army  to  back  him.  The  duke's  younger  brother, 
Filippo  Maria,  had  been  left  by  his  father  in  possession  of 
the  town  of  Pavia,  a  younger  son's  inheritance;  but  Facino 
Cane  made  light  of  this  previous  settlement,  and  in  the 
new  position  of  affairs  with  the  house  of  Visconti  visibly 
going  downhill,  took  possession  of  the  city,  retaining  young 
Philip  as  half  guest,  half  prisoner.  When  matters  were  in 
this  woeful  state,  the  duke  was  assassinated  in  Milan,  and  by 
his  death  the  young  captive  in  Pavia  became  the  head  of 
the  house — to  little  purpose,  however,  had  things  remained 
as  they  were.  But  on  the  very  same  day  Facino  died  in 
Pavia,  and  immediately  all  the  prospects  of  Pliilip  were 
altered.     There  was  evidently  no  one  to  take  the  place  of 


192  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  dead  soldier.  The  troops  who  had  bronglit  him  to  that 
eminence,  and  the  wealth  he  had  acquired,  and  the 
wife  who  probably  mourned  but  little  for  the  scarred  and 
deaf  old  trooper  who  had  won  her  by  his  bow  and 
spear,  were  all  left  to  be  seized  by  the  first  adventurer 
who  was  strong  enough  to  take  advantage  of  the  position. 
Whether  by  his  own  wit  or  the  advice  of  wise  counselors, 
the  young  disinherited  prince  sprang  into  the  vacant  place, 
and  at  once  a  counter  revolution  began. 

It  would  seem  that  the  death  of  his  leader  raised  Fran- 
cesco, the  Savoyard,  by  an  equally  sudden  leap,  into-,  the 
front  of  the  captains  of  that  army.  He  had  taken  the 
name  of  his  village,  a  well-sounding  one  and  destined  to 
fatal  celebrity,"  perhaps  by  reason  of  the  want  of  a  surname 
which  was  common  to  Italian  peasants,  and  which  probably 
told  more  among  the  Condottieri,  whose  ranks  included 
many  of  the  best  names  in  Italy,  than  it  did  in  art.  He 
was  still  very  young,  not  more  than  twenty-two.  But  he 
would  seem  to  have  had  sufficient  sense  and  insight  to  per- 
ceive the  greatness  of  the  opportunity  that  lay  before  him, 
and  to  have  at  once  thrown  the  weight  of  his  sword  and 
following  upon  Philip's  side.  Probably  the  two  young 
men  had  known  each  other,  perhaps  been  comrades  more 
or  less,  when  Carmagnola  was  a  young  captain  under 
Facino's  orders  and  Philip  an  uneasy  loiterer  about  his 
noisy  court.  At  all  events  Carmagnola  at  once  embraced 
the  prince's  cause.  He  took  Milan  for  him,  killing  an 
illegitimate  rival,  and  overcoming  all  rival  factions  there; 
and  afterward,  as  commander-in-chief  of  the  duke  of 
Milan's  forces,  reconquered  one  by  one  the  revolted  cities. 
This  was  a  slow  process  extending  over  several  seasons — 
for  those  were  the  days  when  everything  was  done  by  rule, 
when  the  troops  retired  into  winter  quarters,  and  a  cam- 
paign was  a  leisurely  performance  executed  at  a  time  of 
year  favorable  for  such  operations,  and  attended  by  little 
danger  except  to  the  unfortunate  inhabitants  of  the  district 
in  which  it  was  carried  on. 

The  services  thus  rendered  were  largely  and  liberally 
rewarded.     A  kinswoman  of  Philip's,  a  lady  of  the  Visconti 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  193 

family,  whose  first  husband  had  been  higli  in  the  duke's 
confidence,  became  Carmagnola's  wife,  and  the  privilege 
of  bearing  the  name  of  Visconti  and  the  arms  .of  the 
reigning  liouse  was  conferred  upon  him.  He  was  not  only 
the  commander-in-cliief  of  the  troops,  but  held  a  high 
place  at  court,  and  was  one  of  tlie  chief  and  most  trusted 
of  Pliilip's  counselors.  Tlie  Piedmontese  soldier  was  still 
a  young  man  wlien  all  tliese  glories  came  upon  him,  with 
accompanying  wealth,  due  also  to  Philip's  favor,  as  well 
as  to  the  booty  won  in  Philip's  cause.  He  seems  to  have 
lived  in  Milan  in  a  state  comformable  to  these  high  preten- 
sions and  to  the  position  of  his  wife,  and  was  in  the  act  of 
building  himself  a  great  palace,  now  known  as  theBroletto, 
and  appropriated  to  public  use,  when  the  usual  fate  of  a 
favorite  began  to  shadow  over  him.  This  was  in  the  year 
1424,  twelve  years  after  he  had  thrown  in  his  fate  with 
the  prince  in  Pavia.  The  difference  in  Philip's  position  by 
this  time  was  wonderful.  He  had  then  possessed  nothing 
save  a  doubtful  cluini  on  the  city  where  he  was  an  exile 
the  prisoner.  He  was  now  one  of  the  greatest  powers  in 
Italy,  respected  and  feared  by  his  neighbors,  the  master  of 
twenty  rich  cities,  and  of  all  the  wealthy  Lombard  plains. 
To  these  Carmagnola  had  lately  added  the  richest  prize  of 
all,  in  the  humiliation  and  overthrow  of  Genoa,  superbest 
of  northern  towns,  with  her  seaboard  and  trade,  and  all 
her  proud  traditions  of  independence,  the  equal  and  rival 
of  the  great  republic  of  Venice.  Perhaps  this  last  feat  had 
unduly  exalted  the  soldier,  and  made  him  feel  himself  as  a 
conqueror,  something  more  than  the  duke's  humble  kins- 
man and  counselor:  at  all  events,  the  eve  of  the  change 
had  come. 

The  tenure  of  a  favorite's  favor  is  always  uncertain  and 
precarious.  In  those  days  there  were  many  who  rose  to 
the  heights  of  fame  only  to  be  tumbled  headlong  in  a  mo- 
ment from  that  dazzling  eminence.  Carmagnola  was  at 
the  very  height  of  fortune  when  clouds  began  to  gather 
over  his  career.  Though  no  idea  of  treachery  was  then 
imputed  to  him,  he  had  been  if  anything  too  zealous  for 
his  duke,  to  whose  service  in  the  meantime,  as  to  that  of  a 


194  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

great  and  conquering  prince,  full  of  schemes  for  enlarging 
his  own  territory  and  affording  much  occupation  for  a 
brave  spldiery,  many  other  commanders  had  flocked.  The 
enemies  of  Carmagnola  were  many.  Generals  whom  he 
liad  beaten  felt  tlieir  downfall  all  the  greater  tliat  it  had 
been  accomplished  by  a  fellow  without  any  blood  worth 
speaking  of  in  his  veins  ;  and  others  whom  it  would  have 
pleased  Philip  to  secure  in  his  service  were  too  proud  to 
serve  under  a  man  who  had  thus  risen  from  the  ranks. 

The  first  sign  which  the  doomed  general  received  of  his 
failing  favor  was  a  demand  from  Philip  for  the  squadron  of 
liorsemen,  three  hundred  in  number,  who  seem  to  have  been 
Carmagnola's  special  troop,  and  for  whom  the  dulie  declared 
that  he  had  a  particular  use.  The  reply  of  t,he  general  is 
at  once  picturesque  and  pathetic.  He  implored  Philip  not 
to  take  the  weapons  out  of  the  hands  of  a  man  born  and 
bred  in  the  midst  of  arms,  and  to  whom  life  would  be  bare 
indeed  without  his  soldiers.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  to  be 
presumed  that  this  was  but  the  thin  end  of  the  wedge,  and 
that  other  indignities  were  prepared  to  follow.  The  clique 
at  Milan  which  was  furthering  his  downfall  was  led  by  two 
courtiers,  Riccio  and  Lampugnano.  '^  Much  better, '^  says 
Bigli,  the  historian  of  Milan,  who  narrates  diffusely  the 
whole  course  of  the  quarrel,  ^'  would  it  have  been  for  our 
state  had  such  men  as  these  never  been  born.  They  kept 
everything  from  the  duke  except  what  it  pleased  him  to 
learn.  And  it  was  easy  for  them  to  fill  the  mind  of  Philip 
with  suspicions,  for  he  himself  began  to  wish  that  Fran- 
cesco Carmagnola  should  not  appear  so  great  a  man."  Car- 
magnola received  no  answer  to  his  remonstrance,  and  by 
and  by  discovered,  what  is  galling  in  all  circumstances, 
and  in  his  especially  so,  that  the  matter  had  been  decided 
by  the  gossips  of  the  court,  and  that  it  was  a  conspiracy  of 
his  enemies  which  was  settling  his  fate.  Fierce  and  full  of 
irritation,  a  man  who  could  never  at  any  time  restrain  his 
masterful  temper,  and  still,  no  doubt,  with  much  in  him 
of  the  arrogant  rustic  whom  Facino  could  not  make  a  cap- 
tain of,  lest  he  should  at  once  clutch  at  the  baton,  Carmag- 
nola determined  to  face  his  enemies  and    plead  his  own 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  195 

cause  before  his  prince.  The  duke  was  at  Abbiate-grasso, 
on  the  borders  of  Piedmont,  a  frontier  fortress,  within  easy 
reach  of  Genoa,  where  Carinagnola  was  governor  :  and 
thither  he  rode  with  few  attendants,  no  doubt  breathing 
fire  and  flame,  and,  in  his  consciousness  of  all  he  had  done 
for  Philip,  very  confident  of  turning  the  tables  upon  his 
miserable  assailants,  and  making  an  end  of  them  and  their 
wiles.  His  letters  had  not  been  answered — no  notice  what- 
ever had  been  taken  of  his  appeal ;  but  still  it  seemed  im- 
possible to  doubt  that  Philip,  with  liis  trusty  champion 
before  him,  would  remember  all  that  had  passed  between 
them,  and  all  that  Francesco  had  done,  and  do  him  justice. 
His  swift  setting  out  to  put  all  right,  with  an  angry  con- 
tempt of  his  assailants,  but  absolute  confidence  in  the 
renewal  of  his  old  influence  as  soon  as  Philip  should  see 
him,  might  be  paralleled  in  many  a  quarrel.  For  nothing 
is  so  difficult  as  to  teach  a  generous  and  impulsive  man 
that  the  friend  for  whom  he  has  done  too  much  may  sud- 
denly become  incapable  of  bearing  the  burden  of  obliga- 
tion and  gratitude. 

Arrived  at  Abbiate,  he  was  about  to  ride  over  the  bridge 
into  the  castle,  when  he  was  stopped  by  the  guards,  whose 
orders  were  to  hinder  his  entrance.  This  to  the  com- 
mander-in-chief was  an  extraordinary  insult;  but  at  first 
astonishment  was  the  only  feeling  Carmagnola  evidenced. 
He  sent  word  to  Philip  that  he  was  there  desiring  an  audi- 
ence, and  waited  with  liis  handful  of  men,  the  horses  paw- 
ing the  ground,  their  riders  chafing  at  the  compulsory 
pause,  which  no  one  understood.  But  instead  of  being 
then  admitted  with  apologies  and  excuses,  as  perhaps 
Carmagnola  still  hoped,  the  answer  sent  him  was  that 
Philip  was  busy,  but  that  he  might  communicate  what  he 
had  to  say  to  Riccio.  Curbing  his  rage,  the  proud  soldier 
sent  another  message  to  the  effect  that  he  had  certain 
private  matters  for  the  duke's  ear  alone.  To  this  no  reply 
was  given.  The  situation  is  wondei  fully  striking,  and 
full  of  dramatic  force.  Carmagnola  and  his  handful  of 
men  on  one  side  of  the  bridge,  the  castle  rising  on  the 
other  with  all  its  towers  and  bastions  dark  against  the  sky  ; 


196  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  half-frightened  yet  half-insolent  guards  tremhling  at 
their  own  temerity,  yet  glad  enough  to  have  a  hand  in  the 
discomfiture  of  the  rustic  commander,  the  arrogant  and 
high-handed  captain,  who  of  his  origin  was  no  better  than 
they.  The  parley  seems  to  have  gone  on  for  some  time, 
during  whicli  Carmagnola  was  held  at  bay  by  the  attend- 
ants, who  would  make  him  no  answer  other  than  a  con- 
tinual reference  to  Kiccio,  his  well-known  enemy.  Then 
as  he  scanned  the  dark,  unresponsive  towers  with  angry 
eyes,  he  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  the  face  of  Philip  himself 
at  a  loophole.  This  lit  the  smoldering  fire  of  passon. 
He  raised  his  voice — no  small  voice  it  may  well  be  believed 
— and  shouted  forth  his  message  to  his  ungrateful  master. 
'^  Since  I  cannot  speak  before  my  lord  the  duke,"  he 
cried,  *'I  call  God  to  witness  my  innocence  and  faithful- 
ness to  him.  I  have  not  been  guilty  even  of  imagining 
evil  against  him.  I  have  never  taken  thought  for  myself, 
for  my  blood  or  my  life,  in  comparison  with  the  name 
and  power  of  Philip."  Then,  "  carried  on  in  the  inso- 
lence of  his  words,"  says  the  chronicle,  *'he  accused  the 
perfidious  traitors,  and  called  God  to  witness  that  in  a 
short  time  he  would  make  them  feel  the  want  of  one  whom 
the  duke  refused  to  hear." 

So  speaking  Carmagnola  turned  his  horse,  and  took  his 
way  toward  the  river.  When  the  conspirators  in  the 
castle  saw  the  direction  he  was  taking,  a  thrill  of  alarm 
seems  to  have  moved  them,  and  one  of  them,  Oldrado, 
dashed  forth  from  the  gate  with  a  band  of  followers  to 
prevent  Carmagnola  from  crossing  the  Ticino,  which  was 
then  the  boundary  of  Savoy.  But  when  he  saw  the  great 
captain  '^  riding  furiously  across  the  fields  "  toward  Ticino, 
the  heart  of  the  pursuer  failed  him.  Carmagnola  would 
seem  never  to  have  paused  to  think — which  was  not  the 
fashion  of  his  time — but,  carried  along  in  headlong  im- 
pulse, wild  with  the  thought  of  his  dozen  years  of  service,  all 
forgotten  in  a  moment,  did  not  draw  bridle  till  he  reached 
the  castle  of  the  duke  of  Savoy,  his  native  prince,  to 
whom  he  immediately  offered  himself  and  his  services, 
telling   the   story    of   his   wrong.     Noth withstanding   his 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  197 

fury,  he  seems  to  have  exonerated  Philip — a  doubtful  com- 
pliment, since  he  held  him  up  to  the  contempt  of  his 
brother  potentate  as  influenced  by  the  rabble  of  his  court, 
'*  the  singers,  actors,  and  inventors  of  all  crimes,  who 
make  use  of  the  labors  of  others  in  order  to  live  in  sloth/' 
Mere  vituperation  of  Piiilip's  advisers  however  was  not  to 
the  purpose,  and  Carmagnola  artfully  suggested  to  Duke 
Aniadeo  certain  towns  more  justly  his  than  Philip's  :  Asti, 
Alessandria,  and  others,  which  it  would  be  easy  to  with- 
draw from  the  yoke  of  Milan.  It  must  have  been  difficult 
for  a  fifteenth  century  prince  to  resist  such  an  argument, 
but  Amadeo,  though  strongly  tempted,  was  not  powerful 
enough  to  declare  war  by  himself  against  the  great  duke 
of  Milan  ;  and  the  fiery  visitor,  leaving  excitement  and 
commotion  behind  him,  continued  his  journey,  making 
his  way  across  a  spur  of  the  Pennine  Alps,  by  Trient  and 
Treviso  (but  as  secretly  as  possible,  lest  the  Swiss,  whom 
he  had  beaten,  should  hear  of  his  passage  and  rise  against 
him),  till  he  reached  Venice,  to  stir  up  a  still  more 
effectual  ferment  there. 

We  are  now  brought  back  to  our  city,  where  for  some 
time  past  the  proceedings  of  Philip,  and  the  progress  he 
was  making,  especially  the  downfall  of  Genoa,  had  filled 
the  signoria  with  alarm.  The  Venetians  must  have  looked 
on  with  very  mingled  feelings  at  the  overthrow  of  the  other 
republic,  their  own  great  and  unfailing  enemy,  with  whom 
over  and  over  again  they  had  struggled  almost  to  the  death, 
yet  who  could  not  be  seen  to  fall  under  the  power  of  a  con- 
queror with  any  kind  of  satisfaction.  The  Florentines,  too 
had  begun  to  stir  in  consternation  and  amaze,  and  com- 
munications had  passed  between  the  two  great  cities  even 
in  the  time  of  the  Doge  Mocenigo,  tlie  predecessor  of  Fos- 
cari,  who  was  the  occupant  of  the  ducal  throne  at  the  time 
of  Carmagnola's  sudden  appearances  on  the  scene.  Old 
Mocenigo  had  not  favored  the  alliance  with  the  Florentines. 
There  is  a  long  speech  of  his  recorded  by  Sanudo  which 
reminds  us  of  the  pleadings  in  Racine's  comedy,  where  the 
sham  advocates  go  back  to  the  foundation  of  the  world  for 
their  arguments — and  which  affords  us  a  singular  glimpse  of 


198  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  garrulous  and  vehement  old  man,  who  hated  his  probable 
successor,  and  the  half  of  whose  rambling  discourse  is  ad- 
dressed, it  would  seem,  personally  to  Foscari,  then  junior 
procurator,  who,  had  evidently  taken  up  the  cause  of 
the  neighboring  republics. 

"  Our  junior  procurator  {procurators  giovane),  Ser  Francesco  Foscari, 
Savio  del  Consiglio,  has  declared  to  the  \>uhY\c  {sopra  Varringo)  all  that 
the  Florentines  have  said  to  the  Council  and  all  that  we  have  said  to 
your  excellencies  in  reply.  He  says  that  it  is  well  to  succor  the 
Florentines,  because  their  good  is  our  good,  and,  in  consequence,  their 
evil  is  our  evil.  In  due  time  and  place  we  reply  to  this.  Procuratore 
giovane:  God  created  and  made  the  angelical  nature,  which  is  the 
most  noble  of  all  created  things,  and  gave  it  certain  limits  by  which 
it  should  follow  the  way  of  good  and  not  of  evil,  The  angels  chose 
the  bad  way  which  leads  to  evil.  God  punished  them  and  banished 
them  from  Paradise  to  the  Inferno,  and  from  being  good  they  became 
bad.  This  same  thing  we  say  to  the  Florentines  who  come  here  seek- 
ing the  evil  way.  Thus  will  it  happen  to  us  if  we  consent  to  that 
which  our  junior  procurator  has  said.  But  take  comfort  to  yourselves 
that  you  live  in  peace.  If  ever  the  [duke  of  Milan]  makes  unjust  war 
against  you,  God  is  with  you,  Who  sees  all.  He  will  so  arrange  it 
that  you  shall  have  the  victory.  Let  us  live  in  peace,  for  God  is 
peace;  and  he  who  desires  war,  let  him  go  to  perdition.  Procuratore 
giovane-  God  created  Adam  wise,  good  and  perfect,  and  gave  him  the 
earthly  Paradise,  where  was  peace,  with  two  commandments  saying; 
'Enjoy  peace  with  all  that  is  in  Paradise,  but  eat  not  the  fruit  of  a 
certain  tree!'  And  he  was  disobedient  and  sinned  in  pride,  not  being 
willing  to  acknowledge  that  he  was  merely  a  creature.  And  God  de- 
prived him  of  Paradise,  where  peace  dwells,  and  drove  him  out  and 
put  him  in  war,  which  is  this  world,  and  cursed  him  and  all  human 
generations.  And  one  brother  killed  the  other,  going  from  bad  to 
to  worse.  Thus  will  it  happen  to  the  Florentines  for  their  fighting 
which  they  have  among  themselves.  And  if  we  follow  the  counsel 
of  our  junior  procurator  thus  will  it  happen  also  to  us.  Procuratore 
giovane:  After  the  sin  of  Cain,  who  knew  not  his  Creator  nor  did 
his  will,  God  punished  the  world  by  the  flood,  excepting  Noah,  whom 
He  preserved.  Thus  will  it  happen  to  the  Florentines  in  their  deter- 
mination to  have  their  own  way,  that  God  will  destroy  their  country 
and  their  possessions,  and  they  will  come  to  dwell  here,  in  the  same 
way  as  families  with  their  women  and  children  came  to  dwell  in  the 
city  of  Noah  who  obeyed  God  and  trusted  in  Him.  Otherwise,  if  we 
follow  the  counsel  of  our  junior  procurator,  our  people  will  have  to 
go  away  and  dwell  in  strange  lands.  Procuratore  giovane-  Noah  was 
a  holy  man  elect  of  God,  and  Cain  departed  from  God;  the  which  slew 
Japhet  (Abel?)  and  God  punished  him;  of  whom  were  born  the  giants 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  199 

wlio  were  tyrants  and  did  whatever  seemed  good  in  their  own  eyes,  not 
fearing  Ood.  God  made  of  one  language  sixty-six,  and  at  the  end  tbey 
destroyed  each  other,  so  that  there  remained  no  one  of  the  seed 
of  the  giants.  Thus  will  it  happen  to  the  Florentines  for  seeking 
their  own  will  and  not  fearing  God.  Of  their  language  sixty-six 
languages  will  be  made.  For  they  go  out  day  by  day  into  France 
Germany,  Languedoc,  Catalonia,  Hungary,  and  throughout  Italy; 
and  they  will  thus  be  dispersed,  so  that  no  man  will  be  able  to  say 
that  he  is  of  Florence.  Thus  will  it  be  if  we  follow  the  advice  of 
our  junior  procurator.     Therefore,  fear  God  and  hope  in  Him." 

We  can  almost  see  the  old  man,  with  fiery  eyes  and  moist 
mouth,  stammering  forth  these  angry  maunderings,  lean- 
ing across  the  council-table,  with  his  fierce  personal  desig- 
nation of  the  pi'ocurator  giovaue,  the  proud  young  man  in 
hisstrength,  whom  not  all  the  vituperations  of  old  Mocenigo, 
or  his  warnings  to  the  council,  could  keep  out  of  the  ducal 
chair  so  soon  as  death  made  it  vacant.  And  there  is  some- 
thing very  curious  in  this  confused  jumble  of  arguments 
80  inconsequent,  so  earnest — the  old  man's  love  of  peace 
and  a  quiet  life  mingled  with  the  cunning  of  the  aged 
mediaeval  statesman  who  could  not  disabuse  his  mind  of  the 
idea  that  the  destruction  of  Florence  would  swell  the 
wealth  of  Venice.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  long,  rambling 
discourse,  mixed  up  with  all  manner  of  Scripture 
parallels  not  much  more  to  the  purpose  than  tliose  above 
quoted,  the  speaker  returns  to  and  insists  upon  the  ad- 
vantage to  be  gained  by  Venice  from  the  influx  of  refugees 
from  all  the  neighboring  cities.  ^'  If  the  duke  takes 
Florence  "  cries  the  old  man,  'Hhe  Florentines  who  are  ac- 
customed to  live  in  equality,  will  leave  Florence  and  come 
to  Venice,  and  bring  with  them  the  silk  trade,  and  the 
manufacture  of  wool  so  that  their  country  will  be  without 
trade,  and  Venice  will  grow  rich,  as  happened  in  the  case 
of  Lucca  when  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  tyrant.  The 
trade  of  Lucca  and  its  wealth  came  to  Venice,  and  Lucca 
became  poor.     Wherefore,  remain  in  peace." 

Romanin,  always  watchful  for  the  credit  of  Venice,  at- 
tempts to  throw  some  doubt  upon  this  wonderful  speech, 
which,  however,  is  given  on  the  same  authority  as  that 
which  gives  us  old  Mocenigo's  report  of  the  accounts  of  the 


200  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

republic  and  his  words  of  warning  against  Foscari,  which 
are  admitted  to  be  authentic.  It  gives  us  a  remarkable 
view  of  the  mixture  of  wisdom  and  folly,  astute  calculation 
of  the  most  fiercely  selfish  kind,  and  irrelevant  argument, 
which  is  characteristic  of  the  age. 

It  was  in  the  year  14S1  that  Mocenigo  thus  discoursed. 
He  died  two  years  later  at  the  age  of  eighty,  and  the  pro- 
curator giovane,  whom  he  had  addressed  so  fiercely,  suc- 
ceeded as  the  old  man  foresaw.  He  was  that  Francesco 
Foscari  whose  cruel  end  we  have  already  seen,  but  at  this 
time  in  all  the  force  and  magnificence  of  his  manhood,  and 
with  a  great  career  before  him — or  at  least  with  a  great 
episode  of  Venetian  history,  a  period  full  of  agitation, 
victory,  and  splendor  before  the  city  under  his  rule.  When 
Carmagnola,  in  hot  revolt,  and  breathing  nothing  but  pro- 
jects of  vengeance,  arrived  within  the  precincts  of  the 
republic,  a  great  change  had  taken  place  in  the  views  of  the 
Venetians.  The  Florentine  envoys  had  been  received  with 
sympathy  and  interest,  and  as  Philip's  troops  approached 
nearer  and  nearer,  threatening  their  very  city,  the  Venetian 
government,  though  not  yet  moved  to  active  interference, 
had  felt  it  necessary  to  make  a  protest  and  appeal  to  Philip, 
to  whom  they  were  still  bound  by  old  alliances,  made  in 
Mocenigo's  time,  in  favor  of  the  sister  republic.  Rivalships 
there  might  be  in  time  of  peace  ;  but  the  rulers  of  Venice 
could  not  but  regard  '^  witli  much  gravity  and  lament  deeply 
the  adversity  of  a  free  people,  determining  that  whosoever 
would  retain  the  friendsliip  of  Venice  should  be  at  peace 
with  Florence.''  The  envoy  or  orator,  Paolo  Cornaro, 
who  was  sent  with  this  protest,  presented  it  in  a  speech 
reported  by  the  chronicler  Sabellico,  in  which,  with  much 
dignity,  he  enjoins  and  urges  upon  Philip  the  determina- 
tion of  the  republic.  Venetians  and  Florentines  both 
make  short  work  with  the  independence  of  others;  but  yet 
there  is  something  noble  in  the  air  with  which  they  vindi- 
cate their  own. 

"  Nothing  (says  Cornaro)  is  more  dear  to  the  Venetians  than  free- 
dom: to  the  preservation  of  which  thev  are  called  by  justice,  mercy, 
religion,    and  every  other  law,  both   public  and  private,   counting 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  201 

nothing  more  praiseworthy  than  what  is  done  to  this  end.  And 
neither  treaties  nor  laws,  nor  any  other  reason,  divine  or  human,  can 
make  them  depart  from  this,  that  before  everything  freedom  must  be 
secured.  And  in  so  far  as  regards  the  present  case,  the  Venetians  hold 
themselves  as  much  bound  to  bestir  themselves  when  Florence  is  in 
danger  as  if  the  army  of  Philip  was  on  the  frontier  of  their  own 
dominion;  for  it  becomes  those  who  have  freedom  themselves  to  be 
careful  of  that  of  others:  and  as  the  republican  forms  of  government 
possessed  by  Florence  resemble  greatly  their  own.  their  case  is  like 
tbat  of  those  who  suffer  no  less  in  the  sufferings  of  their  brethren 
and  relations  than  if  the  misfortune  was  theirs.  Nor  is  there  any 
doubt  that  he  who  in  Tuscany  contends  against  freedom  in  every 
other  place  will  do  the  same,  as  is  the  custom  of  tyrants— who  have 
ever  the  name  of  freedom  in  abhorrence." 

The  speaker  ends  by  declaring  tbat  if  Philip  carries  on 
his  assaults  against  the  P'lorentines,  Venice,  for  her  own 
safety,  as  well  as  for  that  of  her  sister  city,  will  declare 
war  against  him  as  a  tyrant  and  an  enemy.  '^This  oration 
much  disturbed  the  soul  of  Philip."  But  he  was  full  of 
the  intoxication  of  success,  and  surrounded  by  a  light- 
hearted  court,  to  whom  victory  had  become  a  common- 
place. The  giovanotti  dishonestissimi,  foolish  young 
courtiers  who,  from  the  time  of  King  Rehoboam,  have  led 
young  princes  astray,  whose  jeers  and  wiles  had  driven 
Carmagnola  to  despair,  were  not  to  be  daunted  by  the  grave 
looks  of  the  noble  Venetian,  whom,  no  doubt,  they  felt 
themselves  capable  of  laughing  and  flattering  out  of  his 
seriousness. 

The  next  scene  of  the  drama  takes  place  in  Venice  to 
which  Philip  sent  an  embassy  to  answer  the  mission  of 
Cornaro,  led  by  the  same  Oldrado  who  had  made  that  in- 
effectual rush  after  Carmagnola  from  the  castle  gates,  and 
who  was  one  of  his  chief  enemies.  An  embassy  from  Flor- 
ence arrived  at  the  same  time,  and  the  presence  of  these 
two  opposing  bands  filled  with  interest  and  excitement  the 
city  of  the  sea,  where  a  new  thing  was  received  with  as 
much  delight  as  in  Athens  of  old,  and  where  the  warlike 
spirit  was  always  so  ready  to  light  up.  Tlie  keen  eyes  of 
the  townsfolk  seized  at  once  upon  the  difference  so  visible 
in  the  two  parties.  The  Milanese,  ruffling  in  their  fine 
clothes,  went  about  the  city  gayly,  as  if  they  had  come  for 


202  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

no  other  purpose  than  to  see  tlie  sights,  which,  says,  Bigli 
who  was  himself  of  Milan,  and  probably  thought  a  great 
deal  too  much  fuss  was  made  about  this  wonderful  sea-city 
seemed  ridiculous  to  the  Venetians,  so  that  they  almost 
believed  the  duke  was  making  a  jest  of  them.  The 
Florentines,  on  the  contrary,  grave  as  was  their  fashion, 
and  doubly  serious  in  the  dangerous  position  of  their 
affairs,  went  about  the  streets  ''  as  if  in  mourning,^' 
eagerly  addressing  everybody  who  might  be  of  service  to 
them.  Sabellico  gives  a  similar  account  of  the  two 
parties. 

"  There  miglit  then  be  seen  in  the  city  divers  ambassadors  of  divers 
demeanor,"  he  says.  "Lorenzo  (the  Florentine),  as  was  befitting 
showed  the  sadness  and  humble  condition  of  his  country,  seeking  to 
speak  with  the  senators  even  in  the  streets,  following  them  to  their 
houses  and  neglecting  nothing  which  might  be  to  the  profit  of  the 
embassy.  On  the  other  hand,  those  of  Philip,  not  to  speak  of  their 
pomp,  and  decorations  of  many  kinds,  full  of  hope  and  confidence 
went  gazing  about  the  city  so  marvelously  built,  such  as  they  had 
never  seen  before,  full  of  wonder  how  all  these  things  of  the  earth 
could  be  placed  upon  the  sea.  And  they  replied  cheerfully  to  all  who 
saluted  them,  showing  in  their  faces,  in  their  eyes,  by  all  they  said 
and,  in  short,  by  every  outward  sign  of  satisfaction,  the  prosperity  of 
their  duke  and  country." 

The  dark  figure  of  theFlorentine,  awaiting  anxiously  the 
red-robed  senator  as  he  made  his  way  across  the  Piazza,  or 
hurrying  after  him  through  the  narrow  thoroughfares,  while 
this  gay  band,  in  all  their  finery,  swept  by,  must  have  made 
an  impressive  comment  upon  the  crisis  in  which  so  much 
was  involved.  While  the  Milanese  swam  in  a  gondola,  or 
gazed  at  the  marbles  on  the  walls,  or  here  and  there  an  early 
mosaic,  all  blazing,  like  themselves,  in  crimson  and  gold, 
the  ambassador,  upon  whose  pleading  hung  the  dear  life  of 
Florence,  haunted  the  bridges  and  the  street-corners,  letting 
nobody  pass  that  could  help  him.  ^'How  goes  the  cause  to- 
day, illustrious  signor?  '^  one  can  hear  him  saying.  **What 
hope  for  my  country,  la  patria  7nia9  Will  the  noble 
signori  hear  me  speak?  Will  it  be  given  me  to  plead  my 
cause  before  their  magnificences?  "     Or  in  a  bolder  tone. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  203 

**Onr  cause  is  yours,  most  noble  sir,  though  it  may  not 
seem  so  now.  If  Pliilip  sets  his  foot  on  the  neck  of 
Florence,  which  never  shall  be  while  I  live,  how  long  will 
it  be,  tliink  you,  before  his  trumpets  sound  at  Mestre  over 
the  marslies,  before  he  has  stirred  your  Istrians  to  revolt?" 
Tlie  senators  passing  to  and  fro,  perhaps  in  the  early  morn- 
ing after  a  long  night  in  the  council-chamber,  as  happened 
sometimes,  had  tlieir  steps  wayhiidby  this  earnest  advocate. 
The  Venetians  were  more  given  to  gayety  than  their  brothers 
from  the  Arno,  but  they  were  men  who  before  everything 
else  cared  for  their  constitution,  so  artfully  and  skillfully 
formed — for  their  freedom,  such  as  it  was,  and  the  proud 
independence  which  no  alien  force  had  ever  touched;  and 
the  stranger  with  his  rugged  Tuscan  features  and  dark 
dress,  and  keen  inharmonious  accent,  among  all  their  soft 
Venetian  talk,  no  doubt  impressed  the  imagination  of  a 
susceptible  race.  Whereas  the  Milanese  gallants,  in  their 
gayety  affecting  to  see  no  serious  object  in  their  mission, 
commended  themselves  only  to  the  light-minded,  not  to  the 
fathers  of  the  city.  And  when  Carmagnola,  the  great 
soldier,  known  of  all  men — he  who  had  set  Philip  back 
npon  his  throne  as  everybody  knew,  and  won  so  many  bat- 
tles and  cities — with  all  the  romantic  interest  of  a  hero 
and  an  injured  man,  came  across  the  lagoon  and  landed  at 
the  Piazzetta  between  the  fated  pillars,  how  he  and  his 
scarred  and  bearded  men-at-arms  must  have  looked  at  the 
gay  courtiers  with  their  jests  and  laughter,  who  on  their 
side  could  scarcely  fail  to  shrink  a  little  when  the  man 
whose  ruin  they  had  plotted  went  past  them  to  say  his  say 
before  the  signoria,  in  a  sense  fatally  different  from  theirs, 
as  they  must  have  known. 

The  speeches  of  these  contending  advocates  are  all  given 
at  lengtn  in  the  minute  and  graphic  chronicle.  The  first 
to  appear  before  the  doge  and  senate  was  Lorenzo  Ridolfi, 
the  Florentine,  who  conjoins  his  earnest  pleading  for  aid 
to  his  own  state  with  passionate  admonitions  and  warn- 
ings, that  if  Venice  gives  no  help  to  avert  the  conse- 
quences, her  fate  will  soon  be  the  same.  "  Serene  prince 
and  illustrious  senators,"  he  cries,  *'even  if  I  were  silent 
vou  would  understand  what  T  came  here  to  seek. 


204  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

"  And  those  also  would  understand  who  have  seen  us  leave  Tus- 
cany and  come  here  in  haste,  ambassadors  from  a  free  city,  to  ask 
your  favor,  and  help  for  the  protection  of  our  liberties,  from  a  free 
people  like  yourselves.  The  object  of  all  my  speaking  is  this,  to  in- 
duce you  to  grant  safety  to  my  country,  which  has  brought  forth  and 
bred  me,  and  given  me  honor  and  credit — which  if  I  can  attain,  and 
that  you  should  join  the  confederation  and  friendship  of  the  Floren- 
tines, and  join  your  army  with  our  Tuscans  against  the  cruelest 
tyrant,  enemy  of  our  liberties,  and  hating  yours,  happy  shall  be  my 
errand,  and  my  country  will  embrace  me  with  joy  on  my  return.  And 
our  citizens,  who  live  in  this  sole  hope,  will  hold  themselves  and 
their  city  by  your  bounty  alone  to  be  saved  from  every  peril.  ...  I 
tremble,  noble  prince,  in  this  place  to  say  that  which  I  feel  in  my 
soul :  but  because  it  is  necessary  I  will  say  it.  If  you  will  not  make 
this  alliance  with  us,  Philip  will  find  himself  able  without  help,  hav- 
ing overthrown  Florence,  to  secure  also  the  dominion  of  Venice.  If 
it  should  be  answered  me  that  the  Venetians  always  keep  their  prom- 
ises and  engagements,  I  pray  and  implore  the  most  high  God  that, 
having  given  you  goodness  and  faith  to  keep  your  promises,  He 
would  give  you  to  know  the  arts  and  motives  of  this  tyrant,  and  after 
discovering  them,  with  mature  prudence  to  restrain  and  overrule 
them.  .  .  .  That  tyrant  himself,  who  has  so  often  broken  all  laws, 
both  divine  and  human,  will  himself  teach  you  not  to  keep  that 
which  he,  in  his  perfidy,  has  not  kept.  But  already  your  tacit  con- 
sent gives  me  to  understand  that  I  have  succeeded  in  convincing  you 
that  in  this  oration  I  seek  not  so  much  the  salvation  of  my  republic 
as  the  happiness,  dignity,  and  increase  of  your  own." 

This  speech  moved  the  senators  greatly,  but  did  not  set- 
tle the  question,  their  minds  being  divided  between  alarm, 
sympathy,  and  prudence — fear  of  Philip  on  the  one  hand 
and  of  expense  on  the  other — so  that  they  resolved  to  hear 
Philip's  ambassadors  first  before  coming  to  any  decision. 
Time  was  given  to  the  orator  of  the  Milan  party  to  prepare 
reply  to  his  Ridolfi,  which  he  made  in  a  speech  full  of  bra- 
vado, declaring  that  he  and  his  fellows  were  sent,  not  to 
make  any  league  or  peace  with  Venice,  since  their  former 
treaties  were  still  in  full  force,  and  any  renewal  was  un- 
necessary between  such  faithful  allies — but  simply  to  salute 
the  illustrious  signoria  in  Philip's  name. 

"  But  since  these  people,  who  have  by  nature  the  gift  of  speech, 
delicate  and  false,  have  not  only  to  the  senate,  but  in  the  Piazza  and 
by  the  streets,  with  pitiful  lamentations,  wept  their  fate,  declaring 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  205 

that  tlie  war  which  they  have  carried  on  so  badly  was  begun  by 
Philip  ;  he  desires  to  leave  it  to  your  judgment,  not  refusing  any  con- 
ditions which  you  may  prescribe.  What  they  say  is  false  and  vain, 
unheard  of  things,  such  as  they  are  accustomed  to  study  in  order  to 
abuse  your  gravity,  your  constancy,  the  ancient  laws  of  friendship, 
and  all  the  treaties  made  with  Philip.  They  bid  you  fear  him  and 
the  increase  of  his  power.  But  you  know  they  are  our  enemies  who 
speak.  They  tell  you  that  kings  hate  the  name  of  republics.  .  .  . 
It  is  true  that  King  Louis  was  a  cruel  enemy  of  the  Venetian  name, 
and  all  the  house  of  Carrara  were  your  enemies.  But  the  Visconti, 
who  for  a  hundred  years  have  flourished  in  the  noble  duchy  of  Milan, 
were  always  friends  of  the  Venetian  republic.  .  .  .  Philip  has  had 
good  reasons  to  war  against  the  Florentines,  and  so  have  all  the  Vis- 
conti. They  ought  to  accuse  themselves,  their  pride  and  avarice, 
not  Philip  who  is  the  friend  of  peace  and  repose,  the  very  model  of 
liberality  and  courtesy.  Let  them  therefore  cease  to  abuse  and  in- 
jure our  noble  duke  in  your  presence.  Being  provoked  we  have  an- 
swered in  these  few  words,  though  we  might  have  said  many  more  ; 
which  are  so  true  that  they  themselves  (although  they  are  liars)  do 
not  venture  to  contradict  them." 

This  address  (lid  not  throw  much  light  upon  the  subject, 
and  left  the  senate  in  as  much  difficulty  as  if  it  had  been 
an  English  cabinet  council  at  certain  recent  periods  of  our 
own  history.  **  Diverse  opinions  and  various  decisions 
were  agitated  among  the  senators.  Some  declared  that  it 
was  best  to  oppose  in  open  war  the  forces  of  Philip,  who 
would  otherwise  deceive  them  with  fair  words  until  he  had 
overcome  the  Florentines.  Others  said  that  to  leap  into 
such  an  undertaking  would  be  mere  temerity,  adding  that 
it  was  an  easy  thing  to  begin  a  war,  but  difficult  to  end  it.'' 
The  senate  of  Venice  had,  however,  another  pleader  at 
liand,  whose  eloquence  was  more  convincing.  When  they 
had  confused  themselves  with  arguments  for  and  against, 
the  doge,  whose  views  were  warlike,  called  for  Carmagnola, 
who  had  been  waiting  in  unaccustomed  inaction  to  know 
what  was  to  happen  to  him.  All  his  wrongs  had  been 
revived  by  an  attempt  made  to  poison  him  in  his  retreat  at 
Treviso  by  a  Milanese  exile  who  was  sheltered  there,  and 
who  hoped  by  this  good  deed  to  conciliate  Philip  and  pur- 
chase his  recall — a  man  who,  like  Carmagnola,  had  married 
a  Visconti,  and  perhaps  had  some  private  family  hatred  to 


206  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

quicken  his  patriotic  zeal.  The  attempt  had  been  unsuc- 
cessful, and  the  woiild-be  assassin  had  paid  for  it  by  his 
life.  But  the  result  had  been  to  liglit  into  wilder  flame 
than  ever  the  fire  of  wrong  in  the  fierce  heart  of  the  great 
captain,  whose  love  had  been  turned  into  hatred  by  the 
ingratitude  of  his  former  masters  and  friends.  He  ap- 
peared before  the  wavering  statesmen,  who,  between  their 
ducats  and  their  danger,  could  not  come  to  any  decision, 
flaming  with  wrath  and  energy.  "  Being  of  a  haughty 
nature,  ^lna  natura  sdegnosa,  lie  spoke  bitterly  against 
Philip  and  his  ingratitude  and  perfidy,"  describing  in  hot 
words  his  own  struggles  and  combats,  the  cities  he  had 
brought  under  Philip's  sway,  and  the  fame  he  had  pro- 
cured him,  so  that  his  name  was  known  not  only  through- 
out all  Italy,  but  even  through  Europe,  as  the  master  of 
Genoa.  The  rewards  which  Carmagnola  had  received,  he 
declared  proudly,  were  not  rewards,  but  his  just  hire  and 
no  more.  And  now  quelV  ingrato,  whom  he  had  served  so 
well,  had  not  only  wounded  his  heart  and  his  good  name, 
for  the  sake  of  a  set  of  lying  youths — giovanotti  dislioiies- 
tissimi — and  forced  him  into  exile,  but  finally  had  at- 
tempted to  kill  him.  But  yet  he  had  not  been  without 
good  fortune,  in  that  he  was  preserved  from  this  peril ; 
and  though  he  had  lost  the  country  in  which  he  had  left 
wife  and  children  and  much  wealth,  yet  had  he  found  an- 
other country  where  was  justice,  bounty,  and  every  virtue 
— where  every  man  got  his  due,  and  place  and  dignity 
were  not  given  to  villains  !  After  this  outburst  of  personal 
feeling,  Carmagnola  entered  fully  into  the  weightier  parts 
of  the  matter,  giving  the  eager  senators  to  understand  that 
Philip  was  not  so  strong  as  he  seemed  ;  that  his  money 
was  exhausted,  his  citizens  impoverished,  his  soldiers  in 
arrears  ;  that  he  himself,  Carmagnola,  had  been  the  real 
cause  of  most  of  his  triumphs  ;  and  that  with  his  guidance 
and  knowledge  the  Florentines  themselves  were  stronger 
than  Philip,  the  Venetians  much  stronger.  He  ended  by 
declaring  himself  and  all  his  powers  at  their  service,  promis- 
ing not  only  to  conquer  Philip,  but  to  increase  the  territory 
of  the  Venetians.     Greater  ^omni^nders  they  might  have. 


^-^^VJ.C^'If^^-f-   ■■-■-'T> 


DOOBWAT  OF  KUIKKD  CHAPEL  OF  THE  SERYl. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  207 

and  names  more  lionored,  but  none  of  better  faith  toward 
Venice,  or  of  greater  hatred  toward  the  enemy. 

Carmagnola's  speech  is  not  given  in  the  first  person  like 
the  otliers.  By  the  time  the  narrative  was  written  his 
tragic  history  was  over,  and  the  enthusiasm  with  which  he 
was  first  received  had  become  a  tiling  to  be  lightly  dwelt 
upon,  where  it  could  not  be  ignored  altogether;  but  it  is 
easy  to  see  the  furious  and  strong  personal  feeling  of  the 
man,  injured  and  longing  for  revenge,  his  heart  torn  with 
the  serpent's  tooth  of  ingratitude,  the  bitterness  of  love 
turned  into  hate.  So  strong  was  the  impression  made  by 
these  hoarse  and  thrilling  accents  of  reality  that  the  doubters 
were  moved  to  certainty,  and  almost  all  pronounced  for 
war.  At  the  risk  of  over-prolonging  this  report  of  the 
Venetian  cabinet  council  and  its  proceedings,  we  are 
tempted  to  quote  a  portion  of  the  speech  of  the  doge,  in 
wliich  the  reader  will  scarcely  fail  to  see  on  the  contrary 
side  some  reflection  or  recollection  of  old  Mocenigo's  argu- 
ment which  had  been  lanched  at  his  successor's  head  only 
a  few  years  before. 

"  There  are  two  things  in  a  republic,  noble  fathers,  which  by  name 
and  effect  are  sweet  and  gentle,  but  wliich  are  often  the  occasion  of 
much  trouble  to  the  great  and  noble  city — tbese  are  peace  and  economy. 
For  there  are  dangers  both  distant  and  under  our  eyes,  which  either 
we  do  not  see,  or  seeing  them,  being  too  much  devoted  to  saving 
money,  or  to  peace,  esteem  them  little,  so  that  almost  always  we  are 
drawn  into  very  evident  peril  before  we  will  consider  the  appalling 
name  of  war.  or  come  to  manifest  harm  to  avoid  the  odious  name  of 
expense.  This  fact,  by  which  much  harm  and  ruin  has  been  done 
in  our  times,  and  which  has  also  been  recorded  for  us  by  our  prede- 
cessors, is  now  set  before  us  in  an  example  not  less  useful  than  clear 
in  the  misfortunes  of  the  Florentines,  who,  when  they  saw  the  power 
of  Philip  increasing,  might  jnany  times  have  restrained  it,  and  had 
many  occasions  of  so  doing,  but  would  not.  in  order  to  avoid  the 
great  expense.  But  now  it  has  come  to  pass  that  the  money  which 
they  acquired  in  peace  and  repose  must  be  spent  uselessly;  and  what 
is  more  to  be  lamented,  they  can  neither  attain  peace,  save  at  the  cost 
of  their  freedom,  nor  put  an  end  to  their  expenditure.  I  say,  then, 
that  such  dangers  ought  to  be  considered,  and  being  considered,  ought 
to  be  provided  for  by  courage  and  counsel.  To  guide  a  republic  is 
like  guiding  a  ship  at  sea.     I  ask  if  any  captain,  the  sea  being  quiet 


208  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

and  the  wind  favorable,  ceases  to  steer  the  sLip,  or  gives  himself  up 
to  sleep  and  repose  without  thinking  of  the  dangers  that  may  arise, 
without  keeping  in  order  the  sails,  the  masts,  the  cordage,  or  taking 
into  consideration  the  sudden  changes  to  which  the  sea  is  subject,  the 
season  of  the  year,  by  what  wind  and  in  what  part  of  the  sea  lies  his 
course,  what  depth  of  water  and  what  rocks  his  vessel  may  encounter? 
If  these  precautions  are  neglected,  and  he  is  assailed  by  sudden  mis- 
fortune, does  he  not  deserve  to  lose  his  ship,  and  with  it  everything  ? 
A  similar  misfortune  has  happened  to  the  Florentines,  as  it  must 
happen  to  others  who  do  not  take  precautions  against  future  dangers 
to  the  republic.  The  Florentines  (not  to  have  recourse  to  another  ex- 
ample) might  have  repressed  and  overcome  the  power  of  Philip  when 
it  was  growing,  if  they  had  taken  the  trouble  to  use  their  opportu- 
nities. But  by  negligence,  or  rather  by  avarice,  they  refrained  from 
doing  so.  And  now  it  has  come  about  that,  beaten  in  war,  with  the 
loss  of  their  forces,  they  are  in  danger  of  losing  their  liberty.  And 
to  make  it  worse,  they  are  condemned  everywhere,  and  instead  of 
being  called  industrious  are  called  vile,  and  held  in  good  repute  by 
none;  instead  of  prudent  are  called  fools;  and  instead  of  getting  credit 
for  their  wariness  are  esteemed  to  be  without  intelligence.  These 
evils,  therefore,  ought  to  be  provided  against  when  far  off,  which 
when  near  can  cause  such  serious  evil." 

AVords  so  plain  and  honest,  and  which  are  so  germane  to 
the  matter,  come  to  us  strangely  from  under  the  gilded 
roofs  of  the  ducal  palace,  and  from  the  midst  of  the  romance 
and  glory  of  mediaeval  Venice.  But  Venice  was  the  nation 
of  shopkeepers  in  those  days  which  Enghmd  is  said  to  be 
now,  and  was  subject  to  many  of  the  same  dangers  which 
menace  ourselves — though  wrath  was  more  prompt,  and 
the  baUmce  of  well-being  swayed  more  swiftly,  both  toward 
downfall  and  recovery,  than  is  possible  in  our  larger  con- 
cerns. 

**  The  energetic  speech  and  great  influence  of  the  doge, 
which  was  greater  than  that  of  any  prince  before  him,"  says 
the  chronicler  (alas!  though  this  was  that  same  Francesco 
Foscari  who  died  in  downfall  and  misery,  deposed  from  his 
high  place),  settled  the  matter.  The  league  was  made  with 
the  Florentines,  war  declared  against  the  duke  of  Milan, 
and  Carmagnola  appointed  general  of  the  forces.  The 
senate  sent  messengers,  we  are  told,  through  all  Italy  to 
seek  recruits,  but  in  the  meantime  set  in  movement  those 
who  were  ready;  while  Carmagnola,  like  a  valorous  captain. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  209 

began  to  contrive  how  he  could  begin  the  war  with  some 
great  deed.  It  does  not  quite  accord  with  our  ideas  that 
the  first  great  deed  which  he  planned  was  to  secure  the 
assassination  of  the  governor  of  Brescia  and  betrayal  of 
that  city,  which  is  the  account  given  by  Sabellico.  Bigli, 
however,  puts  the  matter  in  a  better  light,  explaining  tluit 
many  in  the  city  were  inclined  to  follow  Carmagnola,  who 
had  once  already  conquered  the  town  for  Philip,  who  had 
always  maintained  their  cause  in  Milan,  and  whose  wrongs 
had  thus  doubly  attracted  their  sympathy.  The  city  was 
asleep,  and  all  was  still,  when,  with  the  aid  from  within  of 
two  brothers,  Imoinini  di  anima  grande,  the  wall  was 
breached,  and  Carmagnola  got  possession  of  Brescia.  **  It 
was  about  midnight,  in  the  month  of  March,  on  the  last 
day  of  Lent,  which  is  sacred  to  St.  Benedict,"  when  the 
Venetian  troops  marched  into  the  apparently  unsuspecting 
town.  The  scene  is  picturesque  in  the  highest  degree. 
They  marched  into  the  piazza,  the  center  of  all  city  life,  in 
the  chill  and  darkness  of  the  spring  night,  and  there,  with 
sudden  blare  of  trumpets  and  illumination  of  torches,  pro- 
claimed the  sovereignty  of  Venice.  It  is  easy  to  imagine 
the  sudden  panic,  the  frightened  faces  at  the  windows,  the 
glare  of  the  wild  light  that  lit  up  the  palace  fronts,  and 
showed  the  dark  mass  of  the  great  cathedral  rising  black 
and  silent  behind,  while  the  horses  pawed  the  ringing 
stones  of  the  pavement  and  the  armor  shone.  The  histo- 
rian goes  on  to  say:  **  Though  at  first  dismayed  by  tlie 
clang  of  the  trumpets  and  arms,"  the  inhabitants,  •'  as  soon 
as  they  perceived  that  it  was  Carmagnola,  remained  quiet 
in  their  houses,  except  those  who  rushed  forth  to  welcome 
the  besiegers,  or  who  had  private  relations  with  the  gen- 
eral. No  movement  was  made  from  the  many  fortified 
places  in  the  city."  The  transfer  from  one  suzerain  to 
another  was  a  matter  of  common  occurrence,  which  perhaps 
accounts  for  the  ease  and  composure  with  which  it  was 
accomplished.  The  first  victory,  however,  was  but  a  part 
of  what  had  to  be  done.  The  citadel,  high  above  on  the 
crown  of  the  hill  which  overlooks  the  city,  remained  for 
some  time  unconscious  of  what  had  taken  place  below. 


210  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Perhaps  the  Venetian  trumpets  and  clang  of  the  soldiery 
scarcely  reached  the  airy  ramparts  above,  or  passed  for  some 
sudden  broil,  some  encounter  of  enemies  in  the  streets,  such 
as  were  of  nightly  occurrence.  The  town  was  large,  and 
rich,  and  populous  upon  the  slopes  underneath,  surrounded 
with  great  walls  descending  to  the  plains — walls  ^Uhicker 
than  they  were  high,^^  with  fortifications  at  every  gate;  and 


SWORD  HILT. 


was  divided  into  the  old  and  new  city,  the  first  of  these 
only  being  in  Carmagnola^s  hands.  It  seems  a  doubtful 
advantage  to  have  thus  penetrated  into  the  streets  of  a 
town  while  a  great  portion  of  its  surrounding  fortifications 
and  the  citadel  above  were  still  in  other  hands;  but  the 
warfare  of  those  times  had  other  laws  than  those  with 
which  we  are  acquainted.  The  fact  that  these  famous  for- 
tifications were  of  little  use  in  checking  the  attack  is  de- 
voutly explained  by  Bigli  as  a  proof  that  God  was  against 
them — ^'  because  they  were  erected  with  almost  unbearable 
expense  and  toil,"  ^*  the  very  blood  of  the  Brescians  con- 
strained by  their  former  conqueror  to  accomplish  this  work, 
which  was  marvelous,  no  man  at  that  time  having  seen  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  211 

like."  The  Brescians  themselves,  he  tells  us,  were  always 
eager  for  change,  and  on  the  outlook  for  every  kind  of 
novelty,  so  that  there  was  nothing  remarkable  in  their 
quiet  acceptance  of,  and  even  satisfaction  in,  the  new  sway. 
The  reduction  of  the  citadel  was,  however,  a  long  and  des- 
perate task.  The  means  employed  by  Carmagnola  for  this 
end  are  a  little  difficult  to  follow,  at  least  foi  a  lay  reader. 
He  seems  to  have  surrounded  the  castle  with  an  elaborate 
double  work  of  trenches  and  palisades,  with  wooden  towers 
at  inteAals;  and  wearing  out  the  defenders  by  continued 
assault,  as  well  as  shutting  out  all  chance  of  supplies,  at 
last,  after  long  vigilance  and  patience,  attained  his  end. 
Brescia  fell  finally  with  all  its  wealth  into  the  hands  of  the 
Venetians,  a  great  prize  worthy  the  trouble  and  time  which 
had  been  spent  upon  it — a  siege  of  seven  months  after  the 
first  night  attack,  which  had  seemed  so  easy. 

This  grave  achievement  accomplished  Carmagnola  secured 
with  little  trouble  the  Brescian  territory  ;  most  of  the 
villages  and  castles  in  the  neigh borliood,  as  far  as  the  Lago 
di  Garda,  giving  themselves  up  to  tlie  conqueror  without 
waiting  for  any  assault  of  arms.  The  tide  of  ill-fortune 
seems  to  have  been  too  much  for  Philip  ;  and  by  the  good 
offices  of  the  pope's  legate,  a  temporary  peace  was  made — 
at  the  cost,  to  the  duke,  of  Brescia,  with  all  its  territory, 
and  various  smaller  towns  and  villages,  together  with  a 
portion  of  the  district  of  Cremona  on  the  other  bank  of  the 
Ogiio,  altogether  nearly  forty  miles  in  extent.  Philip,  as 
may  be  supposed,  was  furious  at  his  losses — now  accusing 
the  bad  faith  of  the  Florentines,  who  had  begun  the  war; 
now  the  avarice  of  the  Venetians,  who  were  not  content 
with  having  taken  Brescia,  but  would  iiave  Cremona  too. 
The  well-meant  exertions  of  the  legate,  however,  were  of  so 
little  effect  that  before  his  own  departure  he  saw  the 
magistrates  sent  by  the  Venetians  to  take  possession  of 
their  new  property  on  the  Cremona  side  driven  out  with 
insults,  and  Philip  ready  to  take  arms  again.  The  cause  of 
this  new  courage  was  to  be  found  in  the  action  of  the  people 
of  Milan,  who,  stung  in  their  pride  by  the  national  down- 
fall, drew  their  purse-strings  and  came  to  their  prince's  aid. 


212  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

offering  both  men  and  money  on  condition  that  Philip 
would  give  up  to  them  the  dues  of  the  city  so  that  they 
might  reimburse  themselves.  Thus  the  wary  and  subtle 
Italian  burghers  combined  daring  with  prudence,  and 
secured  a  great  municipal  advantage,  while  undertaking  a 
patriotic  duty. 

It  would  be  hopeless  to  follow  the  course  of  this  long- 
continued,  often-interrupted  war.  On  either  side  there 
was  a  crowd  of  captains — many  Italians,  men  of  high  birth 
and  great  possessions,  others  sprung  from  the  people  like 
Carmagnola:  a  certain  John  the  Englishman,  with  a 
hundred  followers,  figured  in  the  special  following  of  the 
commander,  like  William  the  Cock  in  the  train  of  Zeno. 
The  great  battles  which  bulk  so  largely  in  writing,  the  names 
and  numbers  of  which  confuse  the  reader  who  attempts  to 
follow  the  entanglements  of  alliances  and  treacheries  which 
fill  the  chronicle,  were  in  most  cases  almost  bloodless,  and 
the  prisoners  who  were  taken  by  the  victors  were  released 
immediately,  *^  according  to  the  usage  of  war,"  in  order 
that  they  might  live  to  fight  another  day,  and  so  prolong 
and  extend  the  profitable  and  not  too  laborious  occupation 
of  soldiering.  Such  seems  to  have  been  the  rule  of  these 
endless  combats.  The  men-at-arms  in  their  complete  mail 
were  very  nearly  invulnerable.  They  might  roll  off  their 
horses  and  be  stifled  in  their  own  helmets,  or  at  close  quarters 
an  indiscreet  axe  might  hew  through  the  steel,  or  an  arrow 
find  a  crevice  in  the  armor;  but  such  accidents  were  quite 
unusual,  and  the  bloodless  battle  was  a  sort  of  game  which 
one  general  played  against  another,  in  ever  renewed  and 
changing  combinations.  The  danger  that  the  difi'erent 
bands  might  quarrel  among  themselves,  and  divided  counsels 
prevail,  was  perhaps  greater  than  any  other  in  the  com- 
position of  these  armies.  In  Philip^s  host,  when  the  second 
campaign  began,  this  evil  was  apparent.  Half-a-dozen 
captains  of  more  or  less  equal  pretensions  claimed  the 
command,  and  the  wranglings  of  the  council  of  war  were 
not  less  than  those  of  a  village  municipality.  On  the  other 
hand,  Carmagnola,  in  his  rustic  haughtiness,  conscious  of 
being  the  better  yet   the  inferior  of  all   round   him,  his 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  213 

flwmasc?e^?iOsa  stoutly  contemptuous  of  all  lesser  claims, 
kept  perfect  harmony  in  his  camp,  though  the  names  of 
Gonzaga  and  Sforza  are  to  found  among  his  officers. 
Even  the  Venetian  comtnissioners  yielded  to  his  influence, 
Bigli  says,  with  awe — though  he  hid  his  iron  hand  in  no 
glove,  but  ruled  his  army  with  the  arrogaiice  which  had 
been  his  characteristic  f lom  his  youth  up.  Already,  how- 
ever, there  were  suspicions  and  doubts  of  the  great  general 
rising  in  the  minds  of  those  who  were  his  masters.  He 
had  asked  permission  more  than  once,  even  during  the 
siege  of  Brescia,  to  retire  to  certain  baths,  pleading  ill- 
health,  a  plea  which  it  is  evident  the  signoria  found  it 
difficult  to  believe,  and  which  raised  much  scornful  com- 
ment and  criticism  in  Venice.  These  Carmagnola  heard 
of  and  in  great  indignation  complained  of  to  the  signoria: 
which,  however,  so  far  from  supporting  the  vulgar  plaints, 
sent  a  special  commisioner  to  assure  him  of  their  complete 
trust  and  admiration. 

The  great  battle  of  Maclodio  or  Macalo  was  the  chief 
feature  in  Carmagnola's  second  campaign.  This  place  was 
surrounded  by  marshes,  the  paths  across  which  were  tor- 
tuous and  difficult  to  find,  covered  with  treacherous  herbage 
and  tufts  of  wood.  Carmagnola's  purpose  was  to  draw  the 
Milanese  army  after  him,  and  bring  on  a  battle  if  possible 
on  this  impracticable  ground,  which  his  own  army  had 
thoroughly  explored  and  understood.  Almost  against  hope 
his  opponents  fell  into  the  snare,  notwithstanding  the 
opposition  of  the  older  and  more  experienced  captains,  who 
divined  their  old  comrade's  strategy.  Unfortunately,  how- 
ever, for  the  Milanese,  Philip  had  put  a  young  Malatesta, 
incompetent  and  headstrong,  whose  chief  recommendation 
was  his  noble  blood,  at  the  head  of  old  officers,  by  way 
of  putting  a  stop  to  their  rivalries.  When  the  new  general 
decided  upon  attacking  the  Venetians,  his  better  instructed 
subordinates  protested  earnestly.  "We  overthrow  Philip 
to-day,"  cried  Torelli,  one  of  the  chiefs;  "for  either  I  know 
nothing  of  war,  or  this  road  leads  us  headlong  to  destruc- 
tion; but  that  no  one  may  say  I  shrink  from  danger,  I  put 
my  foot  first  into  the  snare."    So  saying,  he  led  the   way 


214  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

into  tlie  marsh,  but  with  every  precaution,  pointing  out  to 
his  men  the  traps  laid  for  them,  and,  having  the  good 
fortune  to  hit  upoji  one  of  the  solid  lines  of  path,  escaped 
with  his  son  and  a  few  of  his  immediate  followers.  Pic- 
cinino,  another  of  the  leaders,  directed  his  men  to  turn 
their  pikes  against  either  fricind  or  foe  who  stopped  the 
way,  and  managed  to  cut  his  way  out  with  a  few  of  his 
men;  but  the  bulk  of  the  army  fell  headlong  into  the 
snare;  the  general,  Malatesta,  was  taken  almost  imme- 
diately, and  the  floundering  troops  surrounded  and  taken 
prisoners  in  battalions. 

Sabellico  talks  of  much  bloodshed,  but  it  would  seem  to 
have  been  the  innocent  blood  of  horses  that  alone  was  shed 
in  this  great  battle. 

"Nearly  five  thousand  horsemen,  and  a  similar  number  of  foot- 
soldiers,  were  taken — there  was  no  slaughter" says  Bigli:  "the troops 
thus  hemmed  in,  rather  than  be  slain,  yielded  themselves  prisoners. 
Those  who  were  there  affirm  that  they  heard  of  no  one  being  killed, 
extraordinary  to  relate,  though  it  was  a  great  battle.  Philip's  army 
was  so  completely  equipped  in  armor  that  no  small  blow  was  needed 
to  injure  them:  nor  is  there  any  man  w^ho  can  record  what  could  be 
called  a  slaughter  of  armed  men  in  Italy,  though  the  slaughter  of 
horses  was  incredible.  This  disaster  was  great  and  memorable,"  he 
adds,  "for  Philip — so  much  so  that  even  the  conquerors  regretted  it, 
having  compassion  on  the  perilous  position  of  so  great  a  duke;  so  that 
you  could  hear  murmurings  throughout  the  camp  of  the  Venetians 
against  their  own  victory." 

Were  it  not  that  the  bloodless  character  of  the  combat 
involves  a  certain  ridicule,  what  a  good  thing  it  would  be 
could  we  in  our  advanced  civilization  carry  on  our  warfare 
in  this  innocent  way,  and  take  each  other  prisoners  with 
polite  regret,  only  to  let  each  other  go  to-morrow  !  Such 
a  process  would  rob  a  battle  of  all  its  terrors ;  and  if  in 
certain  eventualities  it  were  understood  that  one  party 
must  accept  defeat,  how  delightful  to  secure  all  the  pomp 
and  circumstance  of  glorious  war  at  so  easy  a  cost  I  There 
is  indeed  a  great  deal  to  be  said  in  favor  of  this  way  of 
fighting. 

This  great  success  was,  however,  the  beginning  of  Car- 
magnola'3  evil  fortune.     It  is  said  that  he  might,  had  he 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  215 

followed  up  his  victory,  have  pushed  on  to  the  walls  of 
Milan  and  driven  Philip  from  his  duchy.  But  no  doubt 
this  would  have  been  against  the  thrifty  practices  of  the 
Condottieri,  and  the  usages  of  war.  He  returned  to  bis 
headquarters  after  the  fight  without  any  pursuit,  and  all 
the  prisoners  were  set  free.  This  curious  custom  would 
seem  to  have  been  unknown  to  the  Venetian  commis- 
sioners, and  struck  them  with  astonishment.  In  the  morn- 
ing, after  the  din  and  commotion  of  the  battle  were  over, 
they  came  open-mouthed  to  tlie  generaFs  tent  with  their 
complaint.  Tiie  prisoners  had  in  great  part  been  dis- 
charged. Was  Oarmagnola  aware  of  it  r  **  What  then," 
cried  those  lay  critics  witli  much  reason,  **  was  the  use  of 
war  ?  when  all  that  was  done  was  to  prolong  it  endlessly — 
the  fighting  men  escaping  without  a  wound,  the  prisoners 
going  back  to  tlieir  old  quarters  in  peace  ?"  Oarmagnola, 
ever  proud,  would  seem  to  have  made  them  no  reply  ;  but 
when  they  had  done  he  sent  to  inquire  what  had  been  done 
with  the  prisoners,  as  if  this  uniniportant  detail  was  un- 
known to  him.  He  was  answeied  that  almostall  had  been 
set  free  on  the  spot,  but  that  about  four  hundred  still 
remained  in  the  catnp — their  captors  probably  hoping  for 
ransom.  ** Since  their  comrades  have  had  so  much  good 
fortune,"  said  Oarmagnola,  *'  by  the  kindness  of  my  men,  I 
desire  that  the  others  should  be  released  by  mine,  according 
to  the  custom  of  war."  Thus  the  haughty  general  proved 
how  much  regard  he  pnid  to  the  remonstrances  of  his 
civilian  masters.  ''From  this,"  says  Sabellico,  **  there 
arose  great  suspicion  in  the  minds  of  the  Venetians.  And 
there  are  many  who  believe  that  it  was  the  chief  occasion 
of  his  death."  But  no  hint  was  given  of  these  suspicions 
at  the  time  ;  and  as  Oarmagnohi's  bloodless  victory  deeply 
impressed  the  surrounding  countries,  brought  all  the  smaller 
fortresses  and  castles  to  submission,  and,  working  with 
other  misfortunes,  led  back  Philip  again  with  the  ever- 
convenient  legate  to  ask  for  peace,  the  general  returned 
with  glory  to  Venice,  and  was  received  apparently  with 
honor  and  delight.  But  the  little  rift  within  the  lute  was 
never  slow  of  appearing,  and  the  jealous  signoria  feasted 


216  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

many  a  man  whom  they  suspected,  and  for  whom,  under 
their  smiles  and  plaudits,  they  were  already  concocting 
trouble.  The  curious  *'  usage  of  war,"  thus  discovered 
by  the  Venetian  envoys,  is  frankly  accounted  for  by  a 
historian,  who  had  himself  been  in  his  day  a  Condottiere, 
as  arising  from  the  fear  the  soldiers  had,  if  the  war 
finished  quickly,  that  the  people  might  cry,  '' Soldiers,  to 
the  spade ! " 

A  curious  evidence  of  how  human  expedients  are  lost 
and  come  round  into  use  again  by  means  of  that  whirli- 
gig of  time  which  makes  so  many  revolutions,  is  to  be 
found  in  Carmagnola's  invention  for  tiie  defense  of  his 
camp,  of  a  double  line  of  the  country  carts  which  carried 
his  provisions,  standing  closely  together — with  three 
archers,  one  authority  says,  to  each.  Nothwithstanding 
what  seems  the  very  easy  nature  of  his  victories  and  the 
large  use  of  treachery,  it  is  evident  that  his  military  genius 
impressed  the  imagination  of  his  time  above  that  of  any  of 
his  competitors.  He  alone,  harsh  and  haughty  as  he  was, 
kept  his  forces  in  unity.  His  greatness  silenced  the  feudal 
lords,  who  could  not  venture  to  combat  it,  and  he  had  the 
art  of  command,  which  is  a  special  gift. 

The  peace  lasted  for  the  long  period  of  three  years,  dur- 
ing which  time  Carm.agnola  lived  in  great  state  and  honor 
in  Venice,  in  a  palace  near  San  Eustachio  which  had  been 
bestowed  upon  him  by  the  state.  His  wife  and  children, 
had  in  the  former  interval  of  peace  been  restored  to  him, 
and  all  seemed  to  go  at  his  will.  A  modern  biographer 
(Lomonaco),  who  does  not  cite  any  authorities,  informs  us 
that  Carmagnola  was  never  at  home  in  his  adopted  city — 
that  he  felt  suspicions  and  unfriendliness  in  the  air — and 
that  the  keen  consciousness  of  his  low  origin,  which  seems 
to  have  set  a  sharp  note  in  his  character,  was  more  than 
ever  present  with  him  here.  ^' He  specially  abhorred  the 
literary  coteries,"  says  this  doubtful  authority,  '^calling 
them  vain  as  women,  punctilious  as  boys,  lying  and  feign- 
ing like  slaves  " — which  things  have  been  heard  before,  and 
are  scarcely  worth  putting  into  the  fierce  lips  of  the  Pied- 
montese   soldier,  whose   rough   accent   of   the   north  was 


THE  MAKKRS  Ot  VENICE.  217 

probably  laughed  at  by  the  elegant  Venetians,  and  to  vvlioni 
their  constant  pursuit  of  novelty,  their  mental  activity, 
politics,  and  commotions  of  town  life,  were  very  likely 
nauseous  and  unprofitable.  He  who  was  conversant  with 
more  primitive  means  of  action  than  speeches  in  the  senate, 
or  even  the  discussions  of  the  Oousiglio  Maggiore,  might 
well  chafe  at  so  much  loss  of  time  ;  and  it  was  the  fate  of 
a  general  of  mercenaries,  who  had  little  personal  motive 
beyond  his  pay,  and  what  he  could  gain  by  his  services,  to 
be  distrusted  by  his  masters. 

The  occasion  of  the  third  war  is  sufficiently  difficult  to 
discover.  A  Venetian  cardinal — Gabriele  Oondulmero — 
had  been  made  pope,  and  had  publislied  a  bull,  admonish- 
ing both  lords  and  people  to  keep  the  peace,  as  he  intended 
himself  to  inquire  into  every  rising,  and  regulate  the  affairs 
of  Italy.  This  declaration  alarmed  Philip  of  Milan,  to 
whom  it  seemed  inevitable  that  a  Venetian  pope  should  be 
his  enemy  ;  and  thus,  with  no  doubt  a  thousand  secondary 
considerations  on  all  hands,  the  peninsula  was  once  more 
set  on  fire.  When  it  became  apparent  that  the  current  of 
events  was  setting  toward  war,  Carmagnola,  for  no  given 
reason,  but  perhaps  because  his  old  comrades  and  associates 
had  begun  to  exercise  a  renewed  attraction,  notwithstand- 
ing all  the  griefs  that  had  separated  him  from  Philip,  wrote 
to  the  senate  of  Venice,  asking  to  resign  his  appointments 
in  their  service.  This,  however,  the  alarmed  signoria  would 
b}  no  means  listen  to.  They  forced  upon  him  instead  the 
command  in  general  of  all  their  forces,  with  one  thousand 
ducats  a  month  of  pay,  to  be  paid  both  in  war  and  peace, 
and  many  extraordinary  privileges.  It  seems  even  to  have 
been  contemplated  as  a  possible  thing  that  Milan  itself,  if 
Philip's  powers  were  entirely  crushed,  as  the  Venetians 
hoped,  might  be  bestowed  upon  Carmagnola  as  a  reward 
for  the  destruction  of  the  Visconti.  Nevertheless,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  Carmagiiola  had  by  this  time  begun  a  correspond- 
ence with  his  former  master,  and  received  both  letters  and 
messengers  from  Philip  while  conducting  the  campaign 
against  him.  And  that  campaign  was  certainly  not  so  suc- 
cessful, nor  was  it  carried  on  with  the  energy  which  had 


218  THE  MAKEnS  OF  VENICE. 

marked  his  previous  enterprises.  He  was  defeated  before 
Soncino,  by  devices  of  a  similar  character  to  those  which 
he  had  himself  employed,  and  here  is  said  to  have  lost  a 
tliousand  horses.  But  that  shedding  of  innocent  blood 
was  soon  forgotten  in  the  real  and  terrible  disaster  which 
followed. 

The  Venetians  had  fitted  out  not  only  a  land  army,  but 
what  ought  to  have  been  more  in  consonance  with  their 
liabits  and  character,  an  expedition  by  sea  under  the  Ad- 
miral Trevisano,  whose  sliips,  besides  their  crews,  are  said  to 
liave  carried  ten  thousand  fighting  men,  for  tlie  capture  of 
Cremona.  The  fleet  went  up  the  Po  to  act  in  concert  with 
Oarmagnola  in  his  operations  against  that  city.  But  Philip 
on  his  side  had  also  a  fleet  in  the  Po,  though  inferior  to  the 
Venetian,  under  the  command  of  a  Genoese,  Grimaldi,  and 
manned  in  great  part  by  Genoese,  the  hereditary  opponents 
and  rivals  of  Venice.  The  two  generais  on  land,  Sforza 
nnd  Piccinino,  then  both  in  the  service  of  Philip — men 
wliose  ingenuity  and  resource  had  been  whetted  by  previous 
defeats,  and  who  had  thus  learned  CarmagnoUi's  tactics — 
amused  and  occupied  him  by  threatening  his  camp,  wliich 
was  as  yet  imperfectly  defended,  phitosto  alleggiamento  die 
ripari:  but  in  the  night  stole  away,  and  under  the  walls 
of  Cremona  were  received  in  darkness  and  silence  into 
Grimaldi's  ships,  and  flung  themselves  upon  the  Venetian 
fleet.  These  vessels  being  sea-going  ships,  were  heavy  and 
difficult  to  manage  in  the  river — those  of  their  adversaries 
being  apparently  of  lighter  build  ;  and  Grimaldi^s  boats 
seem  to  have  had  the  advantage  of  the  current,  which 
carried  them  ''  very  swiftly  "  against  the  Venetians,  who, 
in  the  doubtful  dawn,  were  astonished  by  the  sight  of  the 
glittering  armor  and  banners  bearing  down  upon  them 
with  all  the  impetus  of  the  great  stream.  The  Venetian 
admiral  sent  ojff  a  message  to  warn  Carmagnola  ;  but  before 
he  could  reach  the  river-bank,  the  two  fleets,  in  a  disastrous 
jumble,  had  drifted  out  of  reach.  Carmagnola,  roused  at 
last,  arrived  too  late,  and,  standing  on  the  shore,  hot  with 
ineff'ectual  haste,  spent  his  wrath  in  shouts  of  encourage- 
ment to  his  comrades,  and  in  cries  of  rage  and  dismay  as  he 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  219 

saw  the  tide  of  fortune  drifting  on,  carrying  the  ships  of 
Philip  in  wild  concussion  against  the  hapless  Venetians. 
When  things  became  desperate,  Trevisano,  the  admiral,  got 
to  shore  in  a  little  boat,  and  fled,  carrying  with  him  the 
treasure  of  sixty  thousand  gold  pieces,  which  was  one  of  the 
great  objects  of  the  attack.  But  this  was  almost  all  that  was 
saved  from  the  rout.  Bigli  says  that  seventy  ships  were 
taken,  of  which  twenty-eight  were  ships  of  war;  but  in  this 
he  is  probably  mistaken,  as  he  had  himself  described  the 
fleet  as  one  of  thirty  ships.  "The  slaughter,"  he  adds, 
*'  was  greater  than  any  that  was  ever  known  in  Italy,  more 
than  twenty-five  hundred  men  being  said  to  have  perished, 
in  witness  of  which  the  Po  ran  red,  a  great  stream  of  blood, 
for  many  miles."  A  few  ships  escaped  by  flight,  and  many 
fugitives,  no  doubt,  in  boats  and  by  the  banks,  where  they 
were  assailed  by  the  peasants,  wiio  taking  advantage  of  their 
opportunity,  and  with  many  a  wrong  to  revenge,  killed  a 
large  number.  Such  a  disastrous  defeat  had  not  happened 
to  Venice  for  many  a  day. 

The  Venetian  historian  relates  that  Carmagnola  received 
the  warning  and  appeal  of  the  admiral  with  contempt — '*as 
he  was  of  a  wrathful  nature,  di  naturn  iraconda,  and  with 
a  loud  voice  reproved  the  error  of  the  Venetians,  who, 
despising  his  counsel,  refused  the  support  to  the  army  on 
land  which  they  had  given  to  their  naval  expedition  ;  nor 
did  he  believe  what  the  messengers  told  him,  but  said 
scornfully  that  the  admiral,  fearing  the  form  of  an  aimed 
man,  had  dreamed  that  all  the  enemies  in  their  boats  were 
born  giants."  This  angry  speech,  no  doubt,  added  to  the 
keen  dissatisfaction  of  the  Venetians  in  knowing  that  their 
general  remained  inactive  on  the  bank  while  their  ships 
were  thus  cut  to  pieces.  The  truth  probably  lies  between 
the  two  narratives,  as  so  often  happens  ;  for  Carmagnola 
might  easily  express  his  hot  impatience  with  the  autliorities 
who  had  refused  to  be  guided  by  his  experience,  and  with 
the  admiral  who  took  the  first  unexpected  man  in  armor 
for  a  giant,  when  the  messengers  roused  him  with  their 
note  of  alarm  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  yet  have  had 
no  traitorous  purpose  in  liis  delay.     He  himself  took  the 


220  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

defeat  profoundly  to  heart,  and  wrote  letters  of  such  dis- 
tress excusing  himself,  that  the  senators  were  compelled  in 
the  midst  of  their  own  trouble  to  send  ambassadors  to  soothe 
him — ^'to  mitigate  liis  frenzy,  that  they  might  not  fall  into 
greater  evil,  and  to  keep  him  at  his  post" — with  assurances 
that  they  held  him  free  of  blame.  It  is  evident,  we  think, 
that  the  whole  affair  had  been  in  direct  opposition  to  his 
advice,  and  that,  instead  of  being  in  the  wrong,  he  felt 
himself  able  to  take  a  very  high  position  with  the  ill-advised 
signoria,  and  to  resent  the  catastrophe  which,  with  greater 
energy  on  his  part,  might  perhaps  have  been  prevented 
altogether.  The  Venetians  avenged  the  disaster  by  sending 
a  fleet  at  once  to  Genoa,  where,  coursing  along  the  lovely 
line  of  the  eastern  Eiviera,  they  caught  in  a  somewhat 
similar  way  the  Genoese  fleet,  and  annihilated  it.  But  this 
is  by  the  way. 

Carmagnola,  meanwhile,  lay  like  Achilles  sullen  in  his 
tent.  Philip  himself  came  in  his  joy  and  triumph  to  the 
neighborhood,  but  could  not  tempt  the  disgusted  general 
to  more  than  a  languid  passage  of  arms.  An  attempt  to 
take  Cremona  by  surprise,  made  by  one  of  his  officers,  a 
certain  Cavalcabo,  or  as  some  say  by  Colleoni,  seemed  as  if 
it  might  have  been  crowned  with  success  had  the  general 
bestirred  himself  with  sufficient  energy — *'if  Car- 
magnola had  sent  more  troops  in  aid."  As  it  was,  the  ex- 
pedition, being  unsupported,  had  to  retire.  If  he  were 
indeed  contemplating  treachery  it  is  evident  that  he  had  a 
great  struggle  with  himself,  and  was  incapable  of  changing 
his  allegiance  with  the  light-hearted  ease  of  many  of  his 
contemporaries.  He  lay  thus  sullen  and  disheartened  in 
liis  leaguer  even  when  spring  restored  the  means  of  war- 
fare, and  though  his  old  enemy  Picinnino  was  up  and  stir- 
ring, picking  up  here  and  there  a  castle  in  the  disturbed 
precincts  of  the  Cremonese.  "The  marvel  grew,"  cries 
Sabellico,  "that  Carmagnola  let  these  people  approach 
him,  and  never  moved." 

The  signoria  in  the  meantime,  had  been  separately  and 
silently  turning  over  many  thouglits  in  their  mind  on  the 
subject   of  this  general  who  was  not  as   the   others,  who 


THE  MAKEHh  OF  VENICE.  221 

would  not  be  commanded  nor  yet  dismissed,  too  great  to  be 
dispensed  with,  too  troublesome  to  manage.  Ever  since 
the  memorable  incidents  of  the  battle  of  Maclodio,  doubts 
of  his  good  faith  had  been  in  their  minds.  Why  did  he 
liberate  Philip's  soldiers  if  he  really  wished  to  overthrow 
Philip  ?  It  was  Philip  himself — so  the  commissioners  had 
said  in  their  indignation  whom  he  had  set  free;  and  who 
could  tell  that  the  treachery  at  Soncino  was  not  of  his  con- 
triving, or  that  he  had  not  stood  aloof  of  set  purpose  while 
the  ships  were  cut  in  pieces  ?  Besides,  was  it  not  certain 
that  many  a  Venetian  had  been  made  to  stand  aside  while 
this  nortnern  mountaineer,  this  rude  Piedmontese,  went 
swaggering  through  the  streets,  holding  the  noblest  at 
arm's  length  ?  A  hundred  hidden  vexations  came  up  when 
some  one  at  last  introduced  his  name,  and  suddenly  the 
senators  with  one  consent  burst  into  the  long-deferred  dis- 
cussion for  which  every  one  was  ready. 

"  There  were  not  a  few,"  says  Sabellico,  "who,  from  tbe  beginning, 
had  suspected  Carmagnola.  These  now  openly  in  the  senate  declared 
that  this  suspicion  not  only  had  not  ceased  but  increased,  and  was 
increasing  every  day;  and  that,  except  his  title  of  commander,  they 
knew  nothing  in  him  that  was  not  hostile  to  the  Venetian  name.  The 
others  would  not  believe  this,  nor  consent  to  hold  him  in  such  sus- 
picion until  some  manifest  signs  of  his  treachery  were  placed  before 
them.  Tbe  senate  again  and  again  referred  to  the  Avogadori  the 
question  whether  such  a  man  ought  to  be  retained  in  the  public  serv- 
ice,  or  whether,  if  convicted  of  treachery,  he  ought  to  be  put  to 
capital  punishment.  This  deliberation,  which  lasted  a  very  long 
time,  ought  to  demonstrate  how  secret  were  the  proceedings  of  the 
senate  when  the  affairs  of  the  country  were  in  question,  and  how 
profound  the  g(K)d  faith  of  the  public  counselors.  For  when  the 
senate  was  called  together  for  this  object,  entering  into  counsel  at 
the  first  lighting  of  torches,  the  consultation  lasted  till  it  was  full  day. 
Carmagnola  himself  was  in  Venice  for  some  time  while  it  was  pro- 
ceeding; and  going  one  morning  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  doge,  he 
met  him  coming  out  of  the  council-chambv^r  to  the  palace,  and  with 
mucn  cheerfulness  asked  whether  he  ought  to  bid  him  good  morning 
or  good  evening  seeing  he  had  not  slept  since  supper.  To  whom  that 
prince  replied,  smiling,  that  among  the  many  serious  matters  which 
had  been  talked  of  in  that  long  discussion,  nothing  had  been  oftener 
mentioned  than  his  (Caruiagnola's)  name.  But  in  order  that 
no  suspicion  might  be  awakened  by  these  words,  he  immediately 


222  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

turned  the  conversation  to  otber  subjects.  This  was  nearly 
eight  months  before  there  was  any  question  of  death:  and  so  secret 
was  this  council,  holding  everything  in  firm  and  perpetual 
silence,  that  no  suggestion  of  their  suspicions  reached  Carmagnola. 
And  though  many  of  the  order  of  the  senators  were  by  long  intimacy 
his  friends,  and  many  of  them  poor,  who  might  have  obtained  great 
rewards  from  Carmagnola  had  they  betrayed  this  secret,  nevertheless 
all  kept  it  faithfully." 

There  is  something  grim  and  terrible  in  the  smiling  reply 
of  the  doge  to  the  man  whose  life  was  being  played  for 
between  tliese  secret  judges,  that  his  name  had  been  one  of 
those  which  came  oftenest  uppermost  in  their  discussions. 
With  what  eyes  must  the  splendid  Venetian  in  his  robes  of 
state,  pale  with  the  night's  watching  have  looked  at  the 
soldier,  erect  and  cheerful,  con  fronts  molto  allegra,  who 
came  across  the  great  court  to  meet  him  iu  tiie  first  light 
of  the  morning,  which  after  the  dimness  of  the  council- 
chamber  and  its  dying  torches,  would  dazzle  the  watcher's 
eyes?  The  other  red-robed  figures,  dispersing  like  so 
many  ghosts,  pale-eyed  before  the  day,  did  they  glance  at 
each  other  with  looks  of  baleful  meaning  as  the  unsuspicious 
general  passed  with  many  salutations  and  friendly  words  and 
greeting — * 'Shall  it  be  good-even  or  good-morrow,  illustrious 
gentlemen,  who  watch  for  Venice  while  the  rest  of  the 
world  sleep?"  Would  there  be  grace  enough  among  the 
secret  councilors  to  hurry  their  steps  as  they  passed  him,  or 
was  there  a  secret  enjoyment  in  Foscari's  double  entendre — 
in  that  fatal  smile  with  which  he  met  the  victim?  The 
great  court  which  has  witnessed  so  much  has  rarely  seen  a 
stranger  scene. 

At  what  time  this  curious  encounter  can  have  happened 
it  is  difficult  to  tell — perhaps  on  the  occasion  of  some  flying 
visit  to  his  family,  which  Carmagnola  may  have  paid  after 
laying  up  his  army  in  winter  quarters  after  the  fashion  of 
the  time.  The  signoria  had  sent  messengers  to  remonstrate 
with  him  upon  his  inaction  to  no  avail  ;  and  that  he  still 
lingered  in  camp  doing  little  or  nothing  added  a  sort  of 
exasperation  to  the  impatience  of  the  city,  and  gave  their 
rulers  a  justification  for  what  they  were  about  to  do.  The 
Yeuetiaa  seuators  had  no  thought  of  leaving  their  general 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  223 

free  to  carry  over  to  Philip  the  help  of  his  great  name 
in  case  of  another  war.  Carmagnola's  sword  thrown 
suddenly  into  the  balance  of  power,  which  was  so  critical  in 
Italy,  might  have  swayed  it  in  almost  any  conceivable 
direction — and  this  was  a  risk  not  to  be  lightly  encountered. 
Had  he  shaken  the  dust  from  his  feet  at  Mestre,  and, 
instead  of  embarking  upon  the  lagoon,  turned  his  horse 
round  upon  the  beacii  and  galloped  off,  as  he  had  done  from 
Philip's  castle,  to  some  other  camp — the  Florentines', 
perhaps,  or  his  own  native  Duke  Amadeo  of  Savoy — wliat 
revolutions  might  happen  ?  He  had  done  it  once,  but  the 
magnificent  signoria  were  determined  that  he  should  not 
do  it  again.  Therefore  the  blow,  when  finally  resolved 
upon,  had  to  be  sharp  and  sudden,  allowing  no  time  for 
thought.  Thanks  to  that  force  of  secrecy  of  which  the 
historian  brags,  Carmagnola  had  no  thought  of  any  harm 
intended  to  him.  He  thought  himself  the  master  of  the 
situation — he  to  whom  only  a  year  before  the  rulers  of 
Venice  had  sent  a  deputation  to  soothe  and  caress  their 
general,  lest  he  should  throw  up  his  post.  Accordingly, 
when  he  received  the  fatal  message  to  return  to  Venice  in 
order  to  give  his  good  masters  advice  as  to  the  state  of 
affairs,  he  seems  to  have  been  without  suspicion  as  to  what 
was  intended.  He  set  out  at  once,  accompanied  by  one  of 
his  lieutenants,  Gonzaga,  the  lord  of  Mantua,  who  had 
also  been  summoned  to  advise  the  signoria,  and  rode  along 
the  green  Lombard  plains  in  all  the  brilliancy  of  their 
spring  verdure,  received  wherever  he  halted  with  honor 
and  welcome.  When  he  reached  the  Brenta  he  took  boat; 
and  his  voyage  down  the  slow-flowing  stream,  which  has 
been  always  so  dear  to  the  Venetians,  was  like  a  royal 
progress.  The  banks  of  the  Brenta  bore  then,  as  now,  long 
lines  of  villas,  inhabited  by  all  that  was  finest  in  Venice  ; 
and  such  of  the  noble  inhabitants  as  were  already  in 
villeggiatura,  '' according  to  their  habit,"  Sabellico  says, 
received  him,  as  he  passed,  con  molta  festa.  And  so  he 
went  to  his  fate.  At  Mestre  he  was  met  by  an  escort  of 
eight  gentleman  from  Venice — those  no  doubt,  to  whom 
the  historian  refers  as  bound  to  him  by  long  intimacy,  whg 


224  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

yet  never  breathed  to  him  a  word  of  warning.  With  this 
escort  he  crossed  the  lagoon,  the  towers  and  lofty  roofs 
of  Venice  rising  from  out  the  rounded  line  of  sea,  his 
second  home,  the  country  of  which  he  had  boasted,  where 
every  man  received  his  due. 

How  did  they  talk  with  him,  those  silken  citizens 
who  knew  but  would  not  by  a  look  betray  whither  they 
were  leading  tlieir  noble  friend  ?  Would  they  tell  him  the 
news  of  the  city,  what  was  thought  of  the  coming  peace, 
what  intrigues  were  afloat,  where  Trevisano,  the  unlucky 
admiral,  had  gone  to  hide  his  head  in  his  banishment  ?  or 
would  the  conversation  flow  on  tlie  last  great  public  show, 
or  some  rare  conceit  in  verse,  or  the  fine  fleet  that  followed 
the  Bucentoro  when  last  the  serenest  prince  took  the  air 
upon  the  lagoon  ?  But  Carmagnola  was  not  lettered,  nor 
a  courtier,  so  that  such  subjects  would  have  little  charm 
for  him.  When  the  boats  swept  past  San  Stai,  would  not 
a  waving  scarf  from  some  balcony  show  that  his  wife  and 
young  daughter  had  come  out  to  see  him  pass,  though  well 
aware  that  the  business  of  the  signoria  went  before  any 
indulgence  at  home  ?  Or  perhaps  he  came  not  by  Cane- 
reggio  but  up  the  Giudecca,  with  the  wind  and  spray  from 
the  sea  blowing  in  his  face  as  he  approached  the  center  of 
Venetian  life.  He  was  led  by  his  courtier- attendants  to 
the  palace  direct — the  senators  having  as  would  seem,  urgent 
need  of  his  counsel.  As  he  entered  the  fatal  doors,  those 
complacent  friends,  to  save  him  any  trouble,  turned  back 
and  dismissed  the  retainers,  without  whom  a  gentleman 
never  stirred  abroad,  informing  them  that  their  master  had 
much  to  say  to  the  doge,  and  might  be  long  detained. 

Here  romance  comes  in  with  unnecessary  aggravations 
of  the  tragic  tale,  relating  how,  not  finding  the  doge,  as 
he  had  expected,  awaiting  him,  Carmagnola  turned  to  go 
to  his  own  house,  but  was  stopped  by  his  false  friends,  and 
led,  on  pretense  of  being  shown  the  nearest  exit,  another 
gloomy  way — a  way  that  led  through  bewildering  pas- 
sages into  the  prisons.  No  sentimental  Bridge  of  Sighs 
existed  in  these  days.  But  when  the  door  of  the  strong- 
room which  was  to  be  his  home  for  the  rest  of  his  mortal 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  225 

life  was  opened,  and  the  lively  voices  of  bis  conductors 
sank  in  the  shock  of  surprise  and  liorror,  and  all  that  was 
about  to  be  rushed  on  Carmagnola's  mind,  the  situation  is 
one  which  requires  no  aid  of  dramatic  art.  Here,  in  a 
moment,  betrayed  out  of  the  air  and  light,  and  the  freedom 
which  he  had  used  so  proudly,  this  man  who  had  never 
feared  the  face  of  men,  must  have  realized  his  fate.  At 
the  head  of  a  great  army  one  day,  a  friendless  prisoner  the 
next,  well  aware  that  the  light  of  day  would  never  clear  up 
the  proceedings  against  him,  or  common  justice,  such  as 
awaits  a  poor  picker  and  stealer,  stand  between  him  and 
the  judges  whose  sentence  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  Let 
us  hope  that  those  intimates  who  had  accompanied  him 
thus  far  slunk  away  in  confusion  and  shame  from  the  look 
of  the  captive.  So  much  evil  as  Carmagnola  had  done  in 
his  life — and  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose,  and  not  a  word 
to  make  us  believe,  that  he  was  a  sanguinary  conqueror,  or 
abused  the  position  he  held — must  have  been  well  atoned 
by  that  first  moment  of  enlightenment  and  despair. 

During  the  thirty  days  that  followed,  little  light  is 
thrown  upon  CarmagnolaV  dungeon.  He  is  swallowed  up 
in  the  darkness,  **  examined  by  torture  before  the  secret 
council, ''  a  phrase  that  chills  one's  blood — until  they  have 
the  evidence  they  want,  and  full  confirmation  in  the  groans 
of  the  half-conscious  sufferer  of  all  imagined  or  concocted 
accusations.  Sabellico  asserts  that  the  proof  against  him 
was  *'in  letters  which  he  could  not  deny  were  in  his  own 
hand,  and  by  domestic  testimony,"  whatever  that  may 
mean  ;  and  does  not  mention  the  torture.  It  is  remarka- 
ble that  Romanin,  while  believing  all  this,  is  unable  to 
prove  it  by  any  document,  and  can  only  repeat  what  the 
older  and  vaguer  chronicler  says.  ^*  The  points  of  the 
accusation  were  these,"  Sabellico  add:  ^'succor  refused 
to  Trevisano,  and  Cremona  saved  to  Philip  by  his  treacher- 
ous abstinence."  The  fact,  however,  is  more  simply  stated 
by  Navagero  before  the  trial,  that  ''  the  signoria  were  bent 
on  freeing  themselves"  from  a  general  who  had  apparently 
ceased  to  be  always  victorious — after  the  excellent  habit  of 
republics,  which  was  to  cut  off  the  head  of  every  unsuccess- 


226  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

fill  leader — thus  eiffectually  preventing  further  faihire,  on 

liis  part  at  least. 

Oarmagnola  was  not  a  man  of  words.  Yet  he  might  have 
lanched  with  his  dying  breath  some  ringing  defiance  to 
catch  the  echoes,  and  leave  in  Venetian  ears  a  recollection, 
a  watchword  of  rebellion  to  come.  The  remorseless  council 
thought  of  this,  with  the  vigihmce  and  subtle  genius  which 
inspired  all  the  preceedings  of  their  secret  conclave;  and 
when  the  May  morning  dawned  which  was  to  be  his  last, 
a  crowning  indignity  was  added  to  his  doom.  He  was  led 
out  con  uno  shadocchio  iii  hocca,  gagged,  ''^in  order  that  he 
might  not  speak ''  to  the  Piazzetta,  now  so  cheerful  and  so 
gay,  which  then  had  the  most  dreadful  associations  of  any 
in  Venice.  '^  Between  the  columns,"  the  blue  lagoon,  with 
all  its  wavelets  flinging  upward  their  countless  gleams  of 
reflection  in  the  early  sun;  the  rich  hued  sails  standing  out 
against  the  blue;  the  great  barges  coming  serenely  in,  as 
now,  with  all  their  many-colored  stores  from  the  Lido  farms 
and  fields — the  gondolas  crowding  to  the  edge  of  the  fatal 
pavement,  the  populace  rushing  from  behind.  No  doubt 
the  windows  of  the  ducal  palace,  or  so  much  of  the  galleries 
as  was  then  in  existence,  were  crowded  with  spectators  too. 
Silent,  carrying  his  head  high,  like  him  of  whom  Dante 
writes  who  held  great  hell  itself  in  despite — sdegnoso  even 
of  that  gag  between  his  lips — the  great  soldier,  the  general 
whose  praises  had  rung  through  Venice,  and  whose  haughty 
looks  had  been  so  familiar  in  the  streets,  was  led  forth  to 
his  death.  By  that  strong  argument  of  the  ax,  unanswer- 
able, incontestable,  the  signoria  managed  to  liberarsi  of 
many  an  inconvenient  servant  and  officer,  either  unsuccess- 
ful or  too  fortunate.  Carmagnola  had  both  of  these  faults, 
he  was  too  great,  and  for  once  he  had  failed.  The  people 
called  ^'  Sventura!  Sventura! "  ^^  Misfortune!  Misfor- 
tune !  "  in  their  dark  masses,  as  they  struggled  to  see  the 
wonderful  sight.  Their  sympathies  could  scarcely  be  against 
the  victim  on  that  day  of  retribution;  and  perhaps,  had  his 
voice  been  free  to  speak  to  them,  they  might  have  thought 
of  other  things  to  shout,  which  the  signoria  had  been  less 
content  to  hear. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  ^27 

Thus  ended  the  great  Carmagnola,  the  most  famous  of  all 
Italian  soldiers  of  fortune.  Over  one  of  the  doors  of  the 
noble  church  of  the  Frari  there  has  hung  for  generations  a 
coffin  covered  with  a  pall,  in  which  it  was  long  supposed 
that  his  bones  had  been  placed,  suspended  between  heaven 
and  earth  jyer  infamia,  as  a  romantic  Custode  says.  This, 
however,  is  one  of  the  fables  of  tradition.  He  was  buried 
in  San  Francesco  delle  Vigne  (not  the  present  church), 
whence  at  a  later  period  his  remains  were  transferred  to 
Milan.  His  wife  and  daughter,  or  daughters,  were  banished 
to  Treviso  with  a  modest  pension,  yet  a  penalty  of  death 
registered  against  them  should  they  break  bounds — so 
determined,  it  is  evident,  were  the  signoria  to  leave  no 
means  by  which  the  general  could  be  avenged.  And  what 
became  of  these  poor  women  is  unknown.  Such  uncon- 
sidered trifles  drop  through  the  loopholes  of  history,  which 
has  nothing  to  do  with  hearts  that  are  broken  or  hopes  that 
cannot  be  renewed. 


OOFVIN  IM  THK  CHUBCH  OF  TBE  FBABL 


JiSS  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BARTOLOMMEO   COLLEONI. 

The  lives  of  the  other  Condottieri  who  tore  Lombardy 
in  pieces  among  them  and  were  to-day  for  Venice 
and  to-morrow  for  Milan,  or  for  any  other  master  who 
might  turn  up  with  a  reasonable  chance  of  fighting,  have 
less  of  human  interest,  as  they  have  less  of  the  tragic 
element  in  their  lives,  and  less  of  what  we  may  call  modern 
characteristics  in  their  minds  than  the  unfortunate  general 
who  ended  his  days  "between  the  columns,"  the  victim  of 
suspicion  only,  leaving  no  proof  against  him  that  can  satisfy 
posterity.  If  Carmagnola  was  a  traitor  at  all,  he  was  such 
a  one  as  might  be  the  hero  of  an  analytical  drama  of  our 
own  day,  wavering  between  truth  and  falsehood,  worked 
upon  by  old  associations  and  the  spells  of  relenting  affec- 
tion, but  never  able  to  bring  himself  to  the  point  of  re- 
nouncing his  engagements  or  openly  breaking  his  word. 
Such  a  traitor  might  be  in  reality  more  dangerous  than  the 
light-hearted  deserter  who  went  over  with  his  lances  at  a 
rousing  gallop  to  the  enemy.  But  modern  art  loves  to 
dwell  upon  the  conflicts  of  the  troubled  mind,  driven  about 
from  one  motive  or  object  to  another,  now  seized  upon  by 
the  tender  recollections  of  the  past,  and  a  longing  for  the 
sympathy  and  society  of  the  friends  of  his  youth,  now 
sternly  called  back  by  the  present  duty  which  requires  him 
to  act  in  the  service  of  their  enemy. 

It  is  difficult  to  realize  this  nineteenth  century  struggle 
as  going  on  under  the  corslet  of  a  mediaeval  soldier,  a  fierce 
illiterate  general,  risen  from  the  ranks,  ferocious  in  war 
and  arrogant  in  peace,  according  to  all  the  descriptions  of 
him.     But  there  is  nothing  vulgar  in  the  image  that  rises 


7 HE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  229 

before  us  as  we  watch  Carmagnola  lying  inactive  on  those 
devastated  plains,  letting  his  fame  go  to  tlie  winds, 
paralyzed  between  the  subtle  wooings  of  old  associations, 
the  horror  of  Philip's  approaching  ruin  wrought  by  his 
hands — of  Philip  who  had  been  his  playfellow  when  they 
were  both  youths  at  Pavia,  the  cousin,  perhaps  the  brother, 
of  his  wife — and  the  demands  of  the  alien  masters  who 
paid  him  so  well,  and  praised  him  so  loudly,  but  scorned 
with  fine  ridicule  his  rough  military  ways.  Philip  had 
wronged  him  bitterly,  but  had  suffered  for  it  :  and  how  was 
it  possible  to  keep  the  rude  heart  from  melting  when  the 
rage  of  love  offended  had  passed  away,  and  the  sinner 
pleaded  for  forgiveness  ?  Or,  who  could  believe  that  the 
woman  by  his  side,  who  was  a  Visconti,  would  be  silent,  or 
that  she  could  see  unmoved  her  own  paternal  blazon  sink- 
ing to  the  earth  before  the  victorious  Lion  of  the  Venetians  ? 
The  wonder  is  that  Carmagnola  did  not  do  as  at  one  time 
or  another  every  one  of  his  compeers  did — go  over  cheerfully 
to  Philip,  and  thus  turn  the  tables  at  once.  Some  innate 
nobility  in  the  man,  who  was  not  as  the  others  were,  could 
alone  have  prevented  this  very  usual  catastrophe.  Even  if 
we  take  the  view  of  the  Venetian  siguoria,  that  he  was  in 
his  heart  a  traitor,  we  must  still  allow  the  fact,  quite 
wonderful  in  the  circumstances,  that  he  was  not  so  by  any 
overt  act — and  that  his  treachery  amounted  to  nothing 
more  than  the  struggle  in  liis  mind  of  two  influences  which 
paralyzed  and  rendered  him  wretched.  The  ease  with  which 
he  fell  into  the  snare  laid  for  his  feet,  and  obeyed  the 
signoria's  call,  which  in  reality  was  his  death-warrent,  does 
not  look  like  a  guilty  man. 

The  other  were  all  of  very  different  mettle.  Gonzaga, 
Marquis  of  Mantua,  who  with  a  few  generations  of  fore- 
fathers behind  him,  might  have  been  supposed  to  have 
learned  the  laws  of  honor  better  than  a  mere  Savoyard 
trooper,  went  over  without  a  word,  at  a  most  critical 
moment  of  the  continued  war,  yet  died  in  his  bed  com- 
fortably, no  one  thinking  of  branding  him  with  the  name 
of  traitor.  Sforza  acted  in  the  same  manner  repeatedly, 
without  any  apparent  criticism  from  his  contemporaries. 


230  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

and  in  the  end  displaced  and  succeeded  Philip,  and  estab- 
lished his  family  as  one  of  the  historical  families  of  Italy. 
None  of  tliese  men  seem  to  have  had  any  hesitation  in  the 
matter.  And  neither  had  the  lesser  captain  who  has  so 
identified  himself  with  Venice  that  when  /we  touch  upon 
the  mainland  and  its  wars,  and  the  conquests  and  losses  of 
the  republic,  it  is  not  possible  to  pass  by  the  name  of 
CoUeoni.  This  is  not  so  much  for  the  memory  of  anything 
he  lias  done,  or  from  any  characteristics  of  an  impressive 
nature  which  he  possessed,  as  from  the  wonderful  image  of 
him  which  rides  and  reigns  in  Venice,  the  embodiment  of 
martial  strength  and  force  unhesitating,  the  mailed  captain 
of  the  middle  ages^  ideal  in  a  tremendous  reality  which  the 
least  observant  cannot  but  feel.  There  he  stands  as  in 
iron — nay,  stands  not,  but  rides  upon  us,  unscrupulous, 
unswerving,  though  his  next  step  should  be  on  the  hearts 
of  the  multitude,  crushing  them  to  pulp  with  remorseless 
hoofs.  Man  and  horse  together,  there  is  scarcely  any  such 
warlike  figure  left  among  us  to  tell  in  expressive  silence 
the  tale  of  those  days  when  might  was  right,  and  the  sword, 
indifferent  to  all  reason,  turned  every  scale.  Colleoni 
played  no  such  empathic  part  in  the  history  of  Venice  as 
his  great  leader  and  predecessor.  But  he  was  mixed  up  in 
all  those  wonderful  wars  of  Lombardy,  in  the  confusion  of 
sieges,  skirmishes,  surprises  ever  repeated,  never  decisive, 
a  pliantasmagoria  of  moving  crowds,  a  din  and  tumult  that 
shakes  the  earth,  thundering  of  horses,  cries  and  shouts  of 
men,  and  the  glancing  of  armor,  and  the  blaze  of  swords, 
reflecting  the  sudden  blaze  of  burning  towns,  echoing  the 
more  terrible  cries  of  sacked  cities.  From  the  miserable 
little  castello,  taken  again  and  again,  and  yet  again,  its 
surrounding  fields  trampled  down,  its  poor  inhabitants 
drained  of  their  utmost  farthing,  to  such  rich  centers  as 
Brescia  and  Verona,  which  lived  for  half  their  time  shut 
up  within  their  walls,  besieged  by  one  army  or  the  other, 
and  spent  the  other  half  in  settling  their  respective  ransoms, 
changing  their  insignia,  setting  up  the  Lion  and  Serpent 
alternately  upon  their  flags,  what  endless  misery  and  con- 
fusion, and  waste  of  human  happiness  !     But  the  captains 


^mM^ili(*y{fir- w- 


To  face  pa(je  '^iQ. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  231 

who  changed  sides  half-a-dozen  times  in  their  career,  and 
were  any  man's  men  who  would  give  them  high  pay  and 
something  to  tight  about,  pursued  their  trade  with  mnch 
impartiality,  troubling  themselves  little  about  the  justice 
or  injustice  of  tlieir  cause,  and  still  less,  it  would  appear, 
about  any  bond  of  honor  between  themselves  and  their 
masters.  Colleoni  alone  seems  to  have  had  some  scrupu- 
lousness about  breaking  his  bond  before  his  legal  time  was 
up.  The  others  do  not  seem  to  have  had  conscience  even 
in  this  respect,  but  deserted  when  it  pleased  them,  as 
often  as  not  in  the  middle  of  a  campaign. 

Bartolommeo  Colleoni,  or  Coglioui,  as  his  biographer  calls 
him,  was  born  in  the  year  1400,  of  a  family  of  small  rustic 
nobility  near  Bergamo,  but  was  driven  from  his  home  by  a 
family  feud,  in  the  course  of  which  his  father  was  dis- 
placed from  the  fortress  which  he  seems  to  have  won  in 
the  good  old  way  by  his  spear  and  his  bow — by  a  conspiracy 
headed  by  his  own  brothers.  This  catastrophe  scattered 
the  children  of  Paolo  Colleoni,  and  threw  into  the  ranks 
of  the  free  lances  (which  probably,  however,  would  have 
been  their  destination  in  any  case)  his  young  sons  as  soon 
as  they  were  old  enough  to  carry  a  spear.  The  first  serv- 
ice of  Bartolommeo  was  under  the  Condottiere  Braccio, 
in  the  service  of  the  queen  of  Naples,  where  he  is  said  by 
his  biographer,  Spino,  to  have  acquired,  from  his  earliest 
beginnings  in  the  field,  singular  fame  and  reputation.  It 
is  unfortunate  that  this  biographer,  throughout  the  course 
of  his  narrative,  adopts  the  easy  method  of  attributing  to 
Colleoni  all  the  fine  things  done  in  tlie  war,  appropriating 
without  scruple  acts  whicli  are  historically  put  to  the  credit 
of  his  commanders.  It  is  possible,  no  doubt,  that  he  is 
right,  and  that  the  young  officer  suggested  to  Gattamelata 
his  famous  retreat  over  the  mountains,  and  to  the  engineer 
who'carried  it  out  the  equally  famous  transport  overland 
to  the  Lago  di  Garda  of  certain  galleys  to  which  we  shall 
afterward  refer.  Colleoni  entered  tlie  service  of  Venice 
at  tlie  beginning  of  Carmagnola's  first  campaign,  with  a 
force  of  forty  horsemen,  and  liis  biographer  at  once  credits 
him  on  the  authority  of  an  obscure  historian  with  one  of 


232  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  most  remarkable  exploits  of  that  war,  the  dariag 
seizure  of  a  portion  of  the  fortifications  of  Cremona,  before 
which  Carmagnola's  army  was  lying.  He  was  at  least  one 
of  the  little  party  which  executed  this  feat  of  arms. 

"Bartolommeo,  accompanied  by  Mocimo  da  Lugo,  and  by  Cavalca- 
bue,  the  son  of  Ugolino,  once  lord  of  Cremona,  both  captains  in  the 
army,  the  latter  having  friends  in  the  city,  approached  the  walls  by 
night,  with  great  precaution,  and  on  that  side  where  they  had  been 
informed  the  defenses  were  weakest,  placed  their  ladders.  Bartol- 
ommeo  was  the  first,  con  intrepidissimo  animo,  to  ascend  the  wall  and 
to  occupy  the  tower  of  San  Luca,  having  killed  the  commander  and 
guards.  News  was  sent  at  once  to  Carmagnola  of  this  success,  upon 
which,  had  he,  according  to  their  advice,  hastened  to  attack,  Cremona 
without  doubt  would  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Venetians." 

The  young  adventurers  held  this  tower  for  three  days,  as 
Quentin  Durward,  or  the  three  Mousquetaires  of  Dumas 
might  have  done — but  finally  were  obliged  to  descend  as 
they  had  come  up,  and  return  to  the  army  under  cover  of 
night,  with  nothing  but  the  name  of  a  daring  feat  to 
reward  them — though  that,  no  doubt,  had  its  sweetness, 
and  also  a  certain  value  in  their  profession.  The  curious 
complication  of  affairs  in  that  strange  distracted  country, 
may  be  all  the  more  clearly  realized,  if  we  note  that  one  of 
the  three  and  most  probably  the  leader  of  the  band  was  a 
Cremonese,  familiar  with  all  the  points  of  vantage  in  the 
city,  and  the  son  of  its  former  lord,  with  no  doubt  parti- 
sans, and  a  party  of  his  own,  had  he  been  able  to  push  his 
way  out  of  the  Rocca  to  the  interior  of  the  city.  Thus 
there  was  always  some  one,  who  even  in  the  subjection  of 
his  native  place  to  the  republic,  may  have  hoped  for  a 
return  of  his  own  family,  or  at  least  for  vengeance  upon 
the  neighboring  despot  which  had  cast  it  out. 

We  hear  of  Colleoni  next  in  a  rapid  night  march  to 
Bergamo,  which  was  the  original  home  of  his  own  race,  and 
which  was  threatened  by  the  Milanese  forces  under  Picci- 
nino.  Knowing  the  city  to  be  without  means  of  defense, 
though  apparently  still  in  a  state  of  temporary  independence, 
Colleoni  proposed  to  his  commanders  to  hurry  thither  and 
occupy  and  prepare  it  for  the  approaching  attack,  with  the 


THE  MAKERS  OP  VENICE.  233 

condition,  however,  that  the  affairs  of  the  city  le  cose  de 
Bergamaschiy  at  least  within  the  walls,  should  receive  no 
damage — another  consolatory  gleam  of  patriotism  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  fierce  selfishness  of  the  time.  With  his 
usual  promptitude,  and  what  his  biographer  cd\hanimositaf 
impetuosity,  he  rushed  across  the  country  while  Piccinino 
was  amusing  himself  with  the  little  independent  castles 
about,  '*  robbing  and  destroying  the  country,  having  given 
orders  that  whatever  could  not  be  carried  away  should  be 
burned,  so  that  in  a  very  short  time  the  villages  and  castles 
of  the  valleys  Callepia  and  Trescoria  were  reduced  to  the 
semblance  and  aspect  of  a  vast  and  frightful  solitude." 
CoUeoni  had  only  his  own  little  force  of  horsemen  and 
three  hundred  infantry,  and  had  he  come  across  the  route 
of  the  Milanese  would  have  been  but  a  mouthful  to  that  big 
enemy.  But  he  carried  his  little  band  along  with  such 
energy  and  inspiration  of  impetuous  genius,  that  they 
reached  Bergamo  while  still  the  foe  was  busy  with  the 
blazing  villages  :  and  had  time  to  strengthen  the  fortifica- 
tions and  increase  both  ammunition  and  men  before  the 
approach  of  Piccinino,  who,  finally  repulsed  from  the  walls 
of  the  city  in  which  he  had  expected  to  find  an  easy  prey 
and  harbor  for  the  stormy  season — and  exposed  to  that 
other  enemy,  which  nobody  in  those  days  attempted  to 
make  head  against,  the  winter,  while  its  chilling  forces  of 
rain  and  snow — streamed  back  disconsolate  to  Milan  al  suo 
Duca,  who  probably  was  not  at  all  glad  to  see  him,  and 
expected  with  reason  that  so  great  a  captain  as  Piccinino 
would  have  kept  his  troops  at  the  expense  of  Bergamo,  or 
some  other  conquered  city,  until  he  could  take  the  field 
again,  instead  of  bringing  such  a  costly  and  troublesome 
following  home. 

AVe  cannot,  however,  follow  at  length  the  feats  which 
his  biographer  ascribes  to  Colleoni's  animosita  and  impet- 
uous spirit,  which  was  combined,  according  to  the  same 
authority,  with  a  prudence  and  foresight  ''  above  the 
captains  of  his  time.'* 

One  of  these  was  the  extraordinary  piece  of- engineering 
by  which  a  small  fleet,  including  cue  or  two  galleys,  wa§ 


234  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

transported  from  the  Adige  to  the  Lago  di  Garda  over  the 
mountain  pass,  apparently  that  between  Mori  and  Riva. 
Near  the  top  of  the  pass  is  a  small  lake  called  now  the 
Lago  di  Loppio,  a  little  mountain  tarn,  which  afforded  a 
momentary  breathing  space  to  the  workmen  and  engineers 
of  this  wonderful  piece  of  work.  The  galleys  *^  two  of 
great  size  and  three  smaller,"  along  with  a  number  of  little 
boats  which  were  put  upon  carts,  were  dragged  over  the 
pass,  with  infinite  labor  and  pains,  and  it  was  only  in  the 
third  month  that  the  armata,  the  little  squadron  pain- 
fully drawn  down  hill  by  means  of  the  channel  of  a  moun- 
tain stream,  found  its  way  to  the  lake  at  last.  This 
wonderful  feat  was  the  work,  according  to  Sabellico,  of  a 
certain  Sorbolo  of  Candia.  But  the  biographer  of 
Colleoni  boldly  claims  the  idea  for  his  hero,  asserting  with 
some  appearance  of  justice  that  the  fathers  of  Venice 
would  not  have  consented  to  such  a  scheme  upon  the  word 
of  an  altogether  unknown  man,  who  was  simply  the 
engineer  who  carried  it  out.  It  was  for  the  purpose  of 
supplying  provisions  to  Brescia,  then  closely  besieged,  that 
this  great  work  was  done.  Sabellico  gives  a  less  satis- 
factory but  still  more  imposing  reason.  *'It  was 
supposed,"  he  says,  *^that  the  intention  of  the  Venetian 
senators  was  rather  to.  encourage  the  Brescians,  than  for 
any  other  motive,  as  they  were  aware  that  these  ships  were 
of  no  use,  the  district  being  so  full  of  the  enemy^s  forces 
that  no  one  could  approach  Brescia,  and  great  doubts 
being  entertained  whether  it  would  be  possible  to  retain 
Verona  and  Vicenza."  On  the  other  hand,  Spino  declares 
that  the  armata  fulfilled  its  purpose  and  secured  the 
passage  of  provisions  to  Brescia.  It  was,  at  any  rate,  a 
magnificent  way  of  keeping  the  beleaguered  city,  and  all 
the  other  alarmed  dependencies  of  Venice,  in  good  heart 
and  hope. 

None  of  our  historians  have,  however,  a  happy  hand  in 
their  narratives  of  these  wars.  They  are  given  in  endless 
repetitions,  and  indeed  were  without  any  human  interest, 
even  that  of  bloodshed,  an  eternal  see-saw  of  cities,  taken 
and   retaken,  of  meaningless  movemeutg  of  troops,  and 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VKNIC/S.  235 

chess-board  battles  gained  and  lost.  One  of  the  greatest 
of  tliese,  in  wliich  Colleoni  was  one  of  the  leaders  against 
Sforza,  who  led  the  troops  of  Milan,  bore  a  strong  resem- 
blance to  that  battle  of  Maclodio,  in  which  Carmagnola 
won  so  great  but  so  unfortunate  a  victory.  Sforza  had 
established  himself,  as  his  predecessor  had  done,  among 
the  marshes  ;  and  altlioughat  tlie  first  onset  the  Venetians 
had  the  best  of  it,  their  success  was  but  momentary,  and 
the  troops  were  soon  wildly  flying  and  floundering  over  the 
treacherous  ground.  Colleoni,  wlio  led  the  reserve  and 
who  made  a  stand  as  long  as  he  could,  escaped  at  last  on 
foot,  Sanudo  says,  who  writes  the  woeful  news  as  it  arrives 
at  the  fifteenth  hour  of  the  15th  of  September,  1448. 
"The  Proveditori  Almoro  Donate  and  Guado  Dandolo 
were  made  prisoners,*'  he  says,  ^'  wliich  proveditori  were 
advised  by  many  that  they  ought  to  fly  and  save  them- 
selves, but  answered  that  they  would  rather  die  beside  the 
ensigns  than  save  themselves  by  a  shameful  flight.  And 
note,"  adds  the  faithful  chronicler,  *'  that  in  this  rout 
07ily  one  of  our  troops  was  killed,  the  rest  being  taken 
prisoners  and  many  of  them  caught  in  the  marshes. '* 
The  flight  of  the  mercenaries  on  every  side,  while  the  two 
proud  Venetians  stood  by  their  flag,  perhaps  the  only  men 
of  all  that  host  who  cared  in  their  heart  what  became  of 
St.  Mark's  often  triumphant  lion,  affords  another  curious 
picture  in  illustration  of  surely  the  strangest  warfare  ever 
practiced  among  men. 

"  But  not  for  this,"  Sanudo  goes  on,  "  was  the  doge  discouraged 
but  came  to  the  council  with  more  vigor  than  ever,  and  tbe  question 
was  bow  to  reconstruct  tbe  army,  so  i\i2it  hading  plenty  of  money  tbey 
should  establish  tbe  camp  again  as  it  was  at  first." 

Thus  Venetian  pride  and  gold  triumphed  over  misfortune. 
The  most  energetic  measures  were  taken  at  once  with  large 
offers  of  pay  and  remittances  of  money,  and  tlie  broken 
bands  were  gradually  re-gathered  together.  Sforza,  after 
his  victory,  pushed  on,  taking  and  ravaging  everything  till 
he  came  once  more  to  the  gates  of  Brescia,  where  again  the 
sturdy  citizens  prepared   themselves   for  a  siege.     In  the 


236  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

meantime  pairs  of  anxious  proved i tori  with  sacks  of  money 
went  off  at  once  to  every  point  of  danger  ;  tliirty  thousand 
ducats  fell  to  the  share  of  Brescia  alone.  At  Verona,  these 
grave  officials  '^  day  and  night  were  in  waiting  to  enrol  men 
and  very  shortly  had  collected  a  great  army  by  means  of 
the  large  payments  they  made/' 

While  these  tremendous  efforts  were  in  the  course  of 
making,  once  more  the  whole  tide  of  affairs  was  changed  as 
by  a  magician's  wand.  The  people  of  Milan  had  called 
Sforza  back  on  their  duke's  death,  but  had  held  his  power 
inconstant  suspicion,  and  were  now  seized  with  alarm  lest, 
flushed  with  victory  as  he  was,  he  should  take  that  duke's 
place — which  was  indeed  his  determination.  They  seized 
the  occasion  accordingly,  and  now  rose  against  his  growing 
power,  '^desiring  to  maintain  themselves  in  freedom." 
Sforza  no  sooner  heard  of  this  than  he  stopped  fighting, 
and  by  the  handy  help  of  one  of  the  proved! tori  who  had 
been  taken  in  the  battle  of  the  marshes,  and  who  turned 
out  to  be  a  friend  of  his  secretary  Simonetta  made  over- 
tures of  peace  to  Venice,  which  were  as  readily  accepted. 
So  that  on  the  18th  of  October  of  the  same  year,  little  more 
than  a  month  after  the  disastrous  rout  above  recorded, 
articles  of  peace  were  signed,  by  which  the  aid  of  four 
thousand  horsemen  and  two  thousand  foot  were  granted  to 
Sforza,  along  with  a  subsidy  of  thirteen  thousand  ducats 
a  month,  according  to  Sanudo,  though  one  cannot  help 
feeling  that  an  extra  cipher  must  have  crept  into  the 
statement.  Venice  regained  all  she  had  lost ;  and  the 
transformation  scene  having  thus  once  more  taken  place, 
our  Colleoni  among  others,  so  lately  a  fugitive  before  the 
victorious  Milanese,  settled  calmly  down  in  his  saddle  once 
more  as  a  lieutenant  of  Sforza's  army,  as  if  no  battle  nor 
hostility  had  ever  been. 

A  curious  domestic  incident  appears  in  the  midst  of  the 
continued  phantasmagoria  of  this  endless  fighting.  The 
Florentines,  more  indifferent  to  consistency  than  the 
Venetians,  and  always  pleased  to  humiliate  a  sister  state, 
not  only  supported  Sforza  against  the  Milanese,  but  pre- 
sumed to  remonstrate  with  the  signoria  when  after  a  time 


THK  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  237 

getting  alarmed  by  his  growing  power,  tl^ey  withdrew  from 
their  alliance  witli  iiim.  This  was  promptly  answered  by 
a  decree  expelling  all  Florentine  inhabitants  from  Venice 
and  forbidding  them  the  exercise  of  any  commercial  trans- 
actions witliin  the  town.  Shortly  before.  King  Alfonzo 
of  Naples  had  made  tiie  same  order  in  respect  to  the 
Venetians  in  his  kingdom.  These  arbitrary  acts  probably 
did  more  real  damage  than  the  bloodless  battles  which  with 
constant  change  of  combinations  were  going  on  on  every 
side. 

The  remaining  facts  of  Colleoni's  career  were  few.  Not- 
withstanding a  trifling  backsliding  in  the  matter  of  aiding 
Sforza,  he  was  engaged  as  captain  general  of  the  Venetian 
forces  in  1455,  and  remained  in  this  office  till  the  term  of 
liis  engagement  was  completed,  which  seems  to  have  been 
ten  years.  He  then,  Sanudo  tells  us,  ^^  treated  with 
Madonna  Bianca,  Duchess  of  Milan  "  (Sforza  being  just 
dead)  *Ho  procure  the  hand  of  one  of  her  daughters  for  his 
son.  But  the  marriage  did  not  take  place,  and  he  resumed 
his  engagements  with  our  signoria."  It  is  difficult  to 
understand  how  this  proposal  could  have  been  made,  as  to 
all  appearance  Colleoni  left  no  son  behind  him,  a  fact  which 
is  also  stated  in  respect  to  most  of  the  generals  of  the  time 
— a  benevolent  interposition  of  nature  one  cannot  but  think, 
for  cutting  off  that  seed  of  dragons.  The  only  other 
mention  of  him  in  the  Venetian  records  is  the  announce- 
ment of  his  death,  which  took  place  in  October,  1475,  in  his 
castle  of  Malpaga,  surrounded  by  all  the  luxury  and  wealth 
of  the  time.  He  was  of  the  same  age  as  the  century,  and 
a  completely  prosperous  and  successful  man,  except  in  that 
matter  of  male  children  with  which,  his  biographer  naively 
tells  us,  he  never  ceased  to  attempt  to  provide  himself,  but 
always  in  vain.  He  left  a  splendid  legacy  to  the  republic 
which  he  had  served  so  long— with  aberrations,  which  no 
doubt  were  by  that  time  forgotten — no  less  than  two  hun- 
dred and  sixteen  thousand  ducats,  Sanudo  says,  besides 
arms,  horses,  and  other  articles  of  value.  The  grateful 
eignoria,  overwhelmed  by  such  liberality,  resolved  to  make 
him  a  statue  with  a  portion  of  the   money.     And  accord- 


238  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

ingly,  there  be  stands  to  this  day,  by  the  peaceful  portals 
of  San  Zanipolo  ready  at  any  moment  to  ride  down  any 
insolent  stranger  who  lifts  a  finger  against  Venice.  Ap- 
propriately enoiigb  to  sucb  a  magnificent  piece  of  work  it 
is  not  quite  clear  wbo  made  it,  and  it  is  impossible  to  open 
a  guide-book  without  ligbting  upon  a  discussion  as  to  how 
far  it  is  Verocchio's  and  how  far  Leopard i's.  He  of  the  true 
eye  at  all  events  had  a  large  hand  in  it,  tmd  never  proved 
his  gift  more  completely  than  in  the  splendid  force  of  this 
wonderful  horseman.  The  power  and  thorough-going 
strength  in  him  has  impressed  the  popular  imagination,  as 
it  was  very  natural  they  should,  and  given  him  a  false 
importance  to  the  imaginative  spectator.  It  is  a  great 
thing  for  a  man  when  he  has  some  slave  of  genius  either 
with  pen  or  brush  or  plastic  clay  to  make  his  portrait. 
Sforza  was  a  much  greater  general  than  Colleoni,  but  had 
no  Verrocchio  to  model  him.  Indeed  our  Bartolommeo 
has  no  pretensions  to  stand  in  the  first  rank  of  the  mediae- 
val Condottieri.  He  is  but  a  vulger  swordsman  beside 
Carmagnola,  or  Sforza  or  Piccinino.  But  perhaps  from 
this  fact  he  is  a  better  example  than  either  of  them  of  the 
hired  captains  of  his  time. 

The  possessions  of  Venice  were  but  little  increased  by  the 
seventy  years  of  fighting  which  ensued  after  Carmagnola 
had  won  Brescia  and  Bergamo  for  her,  and  involved  her  in 
all  the  troubles  and  agitations  of  a  continental  principality. 
Slie  gained  Cremona  in  the  end  of  the  century,  and  she 
lost  nothing  of  any  importance  which  had  beeen  once  ac- 
quired. But  her  province  of  terra  firma  cost  her  probably 
more  than  it  was  worth  to  her  to  be  the  possessor  even  of 
such  fertile  fields  and  famous  cities.  The  unfailing  energy, 
the  wealth,  the  determined  purpose  of  the  great  republic 
were,  however,  nevermore  conspicuous  than  in  the  struggle 
which  she  maintained  for  the  preservation  of  the  province. 
She  had  the  worst  of  it  in  a  great  number  of  cases,  but  the 
loss  was  chiefly  to  her  purse  and  her  vanity.  The  pawns 
with  which  she  played  that  exciting  game  were  not  of  her 
own  flesh  and  blood.  The  largo  pagamento  with  which 
she  was  prepared  was  always  enough  to  secure  a  new  army 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  239 

when  the  other  was  sped,  and  notwithstanding  all  her 
losses  at  sea  and  in  the  East,  and  the  idleness  which  began 
to  steal  into  tlie  being  of  the  new  generation,  she  was  yet 
BO  rich  and  overflowing  with  wealth  that  her  expenditure 
abroad  took  nothing  from  the  lavish  magnificence  of  all  her 
festivals  and  liolidays  at  home.  Her  ruler  during  all  the 
period  at  which  we  have  here  hurriedly  glanced  was  Frances- 
co Foscari,  he  against  whom  his  predecessor  had  warned  the 
signoria  as  a  man  full  of  restlessness  and  ambition,  whose 
life  would  be  a  constant  series  of  wars.  Never  did  predic- 
tion come  more  true  ;  and  though  it  seems  difficult  to  see 
how,  amid  all  the  stern  limits  of  the  doge's  privileges,  it 
could  matter  very  much  what  his  character  was,  yet  this 
man,  in  tlie  time  of  his  manhood  and  strength  must  have 
been  able,  above  others,  to  influence  his  government  and 
his  race.  The  reader  has  already  seen  amid  what  reverses 
this  splendid  and  powerful  ruler,  after  all  the  conflicts  and 
successes  in  which  he  was  the  leading  spirit,  ended  his 
career. 


POZZO. 


340  THE  MAKEUS  OF  VENICE. 


PART  III. 

THE  PAINTERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   THREE   EARLY   MASTERS. 

It  is  one  of  the  favorite  occupations  of  this  age  to  trace 
every  new  manifestation  of  human  genius  or  force  through 
a  course  of  development,  an(]  to  prove  that  in  reality  no 
special  genius  or  distinct  and  individual  impulse  is  wanted 
at  all,  but  only  a  gradual  quickening,  as  might  be  in  the 
development  of  a  grain  of  corn  or  an  acorn  from  the  tree. 
I  am  not  myself  capable  of  looking  at  the  great  sudden 
advances  which,  in  every  department  of  thought  and  in- 
vention, are  made  from  time  to  time;  in  this  way.  Why 
it  should  be  that  in  a  moment  by  the  means  of  two  youths 
in  a  Venetian  house,  not  distinguishable  in  any  way  from 
other  boys,  nor  especially  from  the  sons  of  other  poor 
painters,  members  of  the  scuola  of  S.  Luca,  which  had  long 
existed  in  Venice,  and  produced  dim  pictures  not  witliout 
merit — the  art  of  painting  should  have  sprung  at  once  into 
the  noblest  place,  and  that  nothing  which  all  the  genera- 
ations  have  done  since  with  all  their  inventions  and  appli- 
ances, should  ever  have  bettered  the  Bellini,  seems  to  me 
one  of  those  miraculous  circumstances  with  which  the  world 
abounds,  and  which  illustrate  this  wayward,  splendid  and 
futile  humanity  better  than  any  history  of  development 
could  do. 

The  art  of  painting  had  flourished  dimly  in  Venice  for 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  241 

long.  The  love  of  decorative  art  seems  indeed  to  have 
been  from  its  very  beginning  characteristic  of  the  city. 
Among  the  very  earliest  products  of  her  voyages,  as  soon 
as  the  infant  state  was  strong  enougii  to  have  any  thought 
beyond  mere  subsistence,  where  the  beautiful  tilings  from 
the  East  with  which,  first  the  churches,  and  then  the 
houses  were  adorned.  But  the  art  of  painting,  though  its 
earliest  productions  seem  to  have  been  received  with  eager- 
ness and  honor,  lingered  and  made  little  progress.  In 
Mnrano — where  glass-making  had  been  long  established, 
and  where  fancy  must  have  been  roused  by  tke  fantastic 
art,  so  curious,  so  seemingly  impossible  of  blowing  liquid 
metal  into  forms  of  visionary  light,  lii^e  bubbles,  yet  hard, 
tenacious,  and  clear — the  first  impulse  of  delineation  arose, 
but  came  to  no  remarkable  success.  There  is  much  indeed 
that  is  beautiful  in  the  pictures  of  some  of  these  dim  and 
early  masters  amid  the  mists  of  the  lagoons.  But  with 
the  Bellini  the  pictorial  art  came  like  Athene,  full  arrayed 
in  maturity  of  celestial  godhood,  a  sight  for  all  men.  It  is 
a  doubtful  explanation  of  this  strange  difference  to  say 
that  their  father  had  foregathered  in  the  far  distance,  in 
his  little  workshop,  with  Donatello  from  Florence,  or 
studied  his  art  under  the  instructions  of  Gentile  da 
Fabriano.  Tiie  last  priviiege  at  least  was  not  special  to 
him,  but  must  have  been  shared  with  many  others  of  the 
devout  and  simple  worlvmen  who  had  each  his  little  manu- 
factory of  Madonnas  for  the  constant  consumption  of  the 
church.  But  when  Jacopo  Bellini  with  his  two  sons  came 
from  Padua  and  settled  near  the  Rial  to,  the  day  of  Venice, 
so  fjir  as  the  pictorial  art  is  concerned,  had  begun.  They 
sprang  at  once  to  a  different  standing-ground  altogether,  as 
far  beyond  the  work  of  their  contemporaries  as  Dante  was 
above  his.  No  theory  has  ever  explained  to  the  human 
intelligence  how  such  a  thing  can  be.  It  is  ;  and  in  the 
sudden  bound  which  Genius  takes  out  of  all  the  trammels 
of  the  ordinary — an  unaccountable,  unreasonable,  inimi- 
table initiative  of  its  own — arise  the  epochs  and  is  summed 
up  the  history  of  art. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  the    middle  of  the  fifteenth 


242  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

century  when  the  Bellini  began  to  make  themselves  known 
in  Venice.  Mediaeval  history  does  not  concern  itself  with 
dates  in  respect  to  such  humble  members  of  tlie  common- 
wealth, and  about  the  father  Jacopo,  it  is  impossible  to  tell 
how  long  he  lived  or  when  he  died.  He  was  a  pupil,  as  has 
been  said,  of  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  and  went  with  him  to 
Florence  in  his  youth,  and  thus  came  in  contact  with  the 
great  Tuscan  school  and  its  usages;  and  it  is  known  that 
he  settled  for  some  time  at  Padua,  where  his  sons  had  at 
least  a  part  of  their  education,  and  where  he  married  his 
daughter  to  Andrea  Mantegna  ;  therefore  the  school  of 
Padua  had  also  something  to  do  with  the  training  of 
these  two  young  men  :  but  whether  they  first  saw  the  light 
in  Venice,  or  when  the  family  returned  there,  it  is  not 
known.  Jacopo,  the  father,  exercised  his  art  in  a  mild, 
mediocre  way,  no  better  or  worse  than  the  ordinary  mem- 
bers of  the  scuola.  Probably  his  sons  were  still  young 
when  he  returned  to  the  Rialto,  where  the  family  house 
was :  for  there  is  no  indication  that  Gentile  or  Giovanni 
were  known  in  Padua,  nor  can  we  trace  at  what  period  it 
began  to  be  apparent  in  Venice  that  Jacopo  Bellini's  modest 
workshop  was  sending  forth  altar-pieces  and  little  sacred 
pictures  such  as  had  never  before  been  known  to  come  from 
his  hand.  That  this  fact  would  soon  appear  in  such  an 
abundant  and  ever-circulating  society  of  artists,  more  than 
usually  brought  together  by  the  rules  of  the  scuola  and  the 
freemasonry  common  to  artists  everywhere,  can  scarcely 
be  doubted  :  but  dates  there  are  few.  It  is  diflScult  even 
to  come  to  any  clear  understanding  as  to  the  first  great 
public  undertaking  in  the  way  of  art — the  decoration  of  tiie 
hall  of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore.  It  was  begun,  we  are  told, 
in  the  reign  of  Marco  Cornaro,  in  the  middle  of  the  previous 
century  :  but  both  the  brothers  Bellini  were  engaged  upon 
it  when  they  first  come  into  sight,  and  it  seems  to  have 
given  occupation  to  all  the  painters  of  their  age.  Kugler 
mentions  1456  as  tlie  probable  date  of  a  picture  of  Giovanni 
Bellini :  but  though  this  is  conjectural,  Bellini  (he  signs 
himself  Jucm  in  the  receipt  preserved  in  the  Sala  Mar- 
gherita  at  the   Archivio,  which  is  occasionally  altered  into 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  243 

Ziian  in  the  documents  of  the  time)  would  at  that  date  be 
about  thirty,  and  no  doubt  both  he  and  his  brother  were 
deep  in  work  and  more  or  less  known  to  fame  before  that 
age. 

It  was  not  till  a  much  later  period  however  that  an  event 
occurred  of  the  greatest  importance  in  the  history  of  art — 
the  arrival  in  Venice  of  Antonello  of  Messina,  a  painter 
chiefly,  it  would  seem,  of  portraits,  who  brought  with  him 
the  great  discovery  of  the  use  of  oil  in  painting  which  had 
been  made  by  Jan  van  Eyck  in  Bruges  some  time  before. 
Antonello  had  got  it,  Vasari  says,  from  the  inventor  him- 
self; but  a  difficulty  of  dates  makes  it  more  probable  that 
Hans  Memling  was  the  Giovanni  di  Bruggia  whose  con- 
fidence the  gay  young  Sicilian  gained,  perhaps  by  his  lute 
and  his  music  and  all  his  pleasant  ways.  Antonello  came 
to  Venice  in  1473,  and  was  received  as  a  stranger,  especially 
a  stranger  with  some  new  thing  to  show,  seems  to  have 
always  been  in  the  sensation-loving  city.  But  when  they 
first  saw  his  work,  the  painter  brotherhoods,  the  busy  and 
rising  sctiole,  received  a  sensation  of  another  kind.  Up  to 
this  time  the  only  known  medium  of  painting  had  been 
distemper,  and  in  this  they  were  all  at  work,  getting  what 
softness  and  richness  they  could,  and  that  morbidezza,  the 
melting  roundness  which  the  Italians  loved,  as  much  as 
they  could,  by  every  possible  contrivance  and  exertion  out 
of  their  difficult  material.  But  the  first  canvas  which  the 
Sicilian  set  up  to  show  his  new  patrons  and  professional 
emulators,  was  at  once  a  revolution  and  a  wonder.  Those 
dark  and  glowing  faces  which  still  look  at  us  with  such  a 
force  of  life,  must  have  shown  with  a  serene  superiority 
upon  the  astonished  gazers  who  knew  indeed  how  to  draw 
from  nature  and  find  the  secret  of  her  sentiment  and  ex- 
pression as  well  as  Antonello,  but  not  how  to  attain  that 
luster  and  solidity  of  texture,  that  bloom  of  the  cheek  and 
light  in  the  eye  which  were  so  extraordinarily  superior  to 
anything  that  could  be  obtained  from  the  comparatively 
dry  and  thin  colors  of  the  ancient  method.  This  novelty 
created  such  a  flutter  in  the  workshops  as  no  wars  or  com- 
motions could  call   forth.     How   could  that  warmth  and 


244  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

glow  of  life  be  got  upon  a  piece  of  canvas?  One  can 
imagine  the  painters  gathering,  discussing  in  storms  of  soft 
Venetian  talk  and  boundless  argument,  the  Vivarini  hurry- 
ing over  in  their  boats  from  Murano  and  every  lively  ce7ia 
and  moonlight  promenade  upon  the  lagoons  apt  in  a  moment 
to  burst  into  tempests  of  debate  as  to  what  was  this  new 
thing.  And  on  their  scaffoldings  in  the  great  hall  of  the 
palazzo,  where  they  were  dashing  in  their  great  frescoes, 
what  a  hum  of  commotion  would  run  round.  How  did  he 
get  it,  that  light  and  luster,  and  how  could  they  discover 
what  it  was,  and  share  the  benefit? 

The  story  which  is  told  by  Ridolfi,  but  which  the  his- 
torians of  a  more  critical  school  reject  as  fabulous,  is  at  all 
events  in  no  way  unlikely  or  untrue  to  nature,  or  the  eager 
curiosity  of  the  artists,  or  Venetian  ways.  These  were  the 
days,  it  must  be  recollected,  when  craftsmen  kept  the 
secret  of  their  inventions  and  discoveries  jealously  to  tliem- 
selves,  and  it  was  a  legitimate  as  well  as  a  natural  effort,  if 
one  could,  to  find  them  out.  The  story  goes  that  Giovanni 
Bellini,  by  this  time  at  the  head  of  the  painters  in  Venice, 
the  natural  and  proper  person  to  take  action  in  any  such 
matter,  being  unable  to  discover  Antonello^s  secret  by  fair 
means,  got  it  by  what  we  can  scarcely  call  foul,  though  it 
was  a  trick.  But  the  trick  was  not  a  very  bad  one,  and 
doubtless  among  men  of  their  condition  might  be  laughed 
over  as  a  good  joke  when  it  was  over.  What  Bellini  did, 
^'  feigning  to  be  a  gentleman/'  was  to  commission  Antonello 
to  paint  his  portrait — an  expedient  which  gave  him  the 
best  opportunity  possible  for  studying  the  stranger's 
method.  If  it  were  necessary  here  to  examine  this  taie 
rigorously,  we  should  say  that  it  was  highly  unlikely  so 
distinguished  a  painter  as  Bellini  could  be  unknown  to  the 
newcomer,  who  must,  one  would  think,  have  been  eager  to 
make  acquaintance  on  his  first  arrival  with  the  greatest  of 
Venetian  artists.  But  at  all  events  it  is  a  picturesque 
incident.  One  can  imagine  the  great  painter  ^'  feigning  to 
be  a  gentleman,"  seating  himself  with  a  solemnity  in  which 
there  must  have  been  a  great  deal  of  grim  humor,  in  the 
sitter's  chair — he  had  put  on  ''  the  Venetian  toga"  for  the 


To  face  page  244. 

OATEWAT  OP  THE  ABBAZIA  DELLA  HISERICOROIA. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  245 

occasion,  Ridolfi  says,  evidently  sometliing  different  from 
the  usual  garb  of  the  artist,  and  no  doubt  felt  a  little  em- 
barrassment mingling  with  his  professional  sense  of  what 
was  most  graceful  in  the  arrangement  of  the  unaccustomed 
robe.  But  this  would  not  prevent  him  from  noting  all  the 
time,  under  his  eyelids,  witli  true  professional  vision,  the 
colors  on  the  palette,  the  vials  on  the  table,  the  sheaf  of 
brushes — losing  no  movement  of  the  painter,  and  quick  to 
note  what  compound  it  was  into  which  he  dipped  his  pencil 
— "  ossei'vando  Giovanni  die  di  quando  in  quando  inten- 
geva  il  pennello  nelV  oglio  di  lin,  venne  in  cognizione  del 
modo"  ''  seeing  him  dip  his  brnsh  from  time  to  time  in  oil," 
which  perhaps  was  the  primitive  way  of  using  the  new 
method.  One  wonders  if  Antonello  ever  finished  the  por- 
trait, if  it  was  he  who  set  forth  the  well-known  image  of 
the  burly  master  with  his  outspreading  mop  of  russet  hair; 
or  if  the  Venetian  after  awhile  threw  off  his  toga,  and 
with  a  big  laugh  and  roar  of  good-humored  triumph  an- 
nounced that  his  purpose  was  served  and  all  that  he  wanted 
gained. 

There  is  another  version  of  the  manner  in  which  Anto- 
nello's  secret  was  discovered  in  Venice.  Of  this  later 
story  it  is  Vasari  who  is  the  author.  He,  on  his  side, 
develops  out  of  the  dim  crowd  of  lesser  artists  a  certain 
Domenico  Veniziano  who  was  the  first  to  make  friends  with 
the  Sicilian.  Antonello,  for  the  love  he  bore  him,  com- 
municated his  secret,  Visari  says,  to  this  young  man,  who 
for  a  time  triumphed  over  all  competitors;  but  afterward 
coming  to  Florence  was  in  his  turn  cajoled  out  of  the  much- 
prized  information  by  a  Florentine  painter,  Andrea  del 
Castegna,  who,  envious  of  Domenico's  success,  afterward 
waylaid  him,  and  killed  him  as  he  was  returning  from  their 
usual  evening  diversions.  This  anecdote  has  been  taken 
to  pieces  as  usual  by  later  historians  jealous  for  exactness, 
who  have  discovered  that  Domenico  of  Venice  outlived 
his  supposed  murderer  by  several  years.  Vasari  is  so  very 
certain  on  the  point,  however,  that  we  cannot  help  feeling 
that  something  of  the  kind  he  describes,  some  assault  must 
have  been  made,  a  quarrel  perhaps  sharper  than  usual,  an 


246  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

attempt  at  vengeance  for  some  affront,  though  it  did  not 
have  the  fatal  termination  which  he  supposes. 

Vasari,  however,  in  telling  this  story  affords  us  an  inter- 
esting glimpse  of  the  condition  of  Venice  at  the  period. 
Politically,  it  was  not  a  happy  moment.  While  the  republic 
exhausted  her  resources  in  the  wars  described  in  our  last 
chapters,  her  dominion  in  the  East,  as  well  as  her  trade, 
had  been  greatly  impaired.  The  Turk,  that  terror  of 
Christendom,  had  cruelly  besieged  and  finally  taken  several 
towns  and  strong  places  along  the  Dalmatian  coast:  he  had 
been  in  Friuli  murdering  and  ravaging.  The  interrupted 
and  uncertain  triumphs  of  the  terra-firma  wars,  were  but 
little  compensation  for  these  disasters,  and  the  time  was 
approaching  when  Venice  should  be  compelled  to  withdraw 
from  many  more  of  her  eastern  possessions,  leaving  a  town 
here,  an  island  there,  to  the  Prophet  and  his  hordes.  Bat 
within  the  city  it  is  evident  nothing  of  the  kind  affected  the 
general  life  of  pleasure  and  display  and  enjoyment  that  was 
going  on.  The  doges  were  less  powerful,  but  more  splendid 
than  ever;  the  canals  echoed  with  song  and  shone  with  gay 
processions:  the  great  patrician  houses  grew  more  imposing 
and  their  decorations  more  beautiful  every  day.  The 
ducal  palace  had  at  last  settled,  after  many  changes,  into 
the  form  we  now  know:  the  great  public  undertaking 
which  was  a  national  tribute  to  the  growing  importance  of 
art,  was  being  pushed  forward  to  completion  :  and  though 
the  great  Venetian  painters,  like  other  painters  in  other 
ages,  seem  to  have  found  the  state  a  shabby  paymaster,  and 
to  have  sometimes  shirked  and  always  dallied  in  the  execu- 
tion of  its  commissions,  yet  no  doubt  public  patronage  was 
at  once  a  sign  of  the  quickened  interest  in  art,  and  a  means 
of  increasing  that  interest. 

The  frescoes  in  the  hall  of  the  Great  Council  were  in 
full  course  of  execution  when  the  Sicilian  Antonello  with 
his  great  secret  came  to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  magnificent 
and  delightful  city  of  the  seas — a  place  where  every  rich 
man  was  the  artist's  patron,  and  every  gentleman  a  dilet- 
tante, and  a  new  triumphant  day  of  art  was  dawning,  and 
the  streets  were  full  of  songs  and  pleasure,  and  the  studios 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  2-47 

of  enthusiasm,  and  beauty  and  delight  were  supreme  every- 
where :  notwitlistandiiig  that,  in  tlie  silence,  to  any  one 
who  listened,  the  wikl  and  jangled  bells  might  almost  be 
heard  from  besieged  cities  that  were  soon  no  longer  to  be 
Venetian,  calling  every  man  to  arms  within  their  walls, 
and  appealing  for  help  to  heaven  and  earth.  Such  vulgar 
external  matters  do  not  move  the  historian  of  the  painters, 
and  are  invisible  in  his  record.  The  account  of  Antonello 
is  full  of  cheerfulness  and  light.  "Being  a  person  much 
given  to  pleasure  he  resolved  to  dwell  there  forever,  and 
finish  his  life  where  he  had  found  a  mode  of  existence  so 
much  according  to  his  mind.  And  when  it  was  under- 
stood that  he  had  brought  that  great  discovery  from  Flan- 
ders, he  was  loved  and  caresse<l  by  those  magnificent  gen- 
tlemen as  long  as  he  lived."  His  friend  Domenico  is  also 
described  as  *^  a  charming  and  attractive  person  who  de- 
lighted in  music  and  in  playing  the  lute  :  and  every  even- 
ing they  found  means  to  enjoy  themselves  together^'  (far 
huon  tempo — literally,  have  a  good  time,  according  to  the 
favorite  custom  of  our  American  cousins)  **  serenading 
their  sweethearts  ;  in  which  Domenico  took  great  delight.'' 
Thus  the  young  painters  lived,  as  still  in  Venice  the  young 
and  gay,  as  far  as  the  habits  of  a  graver  age  permits,  love 
to  live — roaming  half  the  night  among  the  canals  or  along 
the  silvery  edge  of  the  lagoon,  intoxicated  with  music  and 
moonlight  and  the  delicious  accompaniment  of  liquid 
movement  and  rhythmic  oars  :  or  amid  the  continual  pa- 
geants in  the  piazza,  the  feast  of  brilliant  color  and  delight- 
ful groups  which  made  the  painters  wild  with  pleasure  ;  or 
with  a  cluster  of  admiring  and  splendid  youths  at  every 
liand  caressed  and  flattered  by  all  that  was  noblest  in 
Venice.  AYe  scarcely  think  of  this  high-colored  and  bril- 
liant life  as  the  proper  background  for  those  early  painters, 
whose  art,  all  the  critics  tell  us,  derives  its  excellence  from 
their  warmer  faith  and  higher  moral  tone  ;  but  we  have 
no  reason  to  believe  that  any  great  social  revolution  took 
place  between  the  day  of  the  Bellini  and  Carpaccio,  and 
that  of  Titian.  Vasari's  description,  corroborated  as  it  is 
by  majiy  others,  refers  to  a  period  when  the  Bellini  were  in 


24S  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  full  force  of  life.  Nor  are  we  led  to  suppose  that  they 
were  distinguislied  by  special  devotion,  or  in  any  way  sep- 
arated from  tlieir  cl^iss.  Venice  had  never  been  austere, 
but  always  gay.  There  was  the  light  and  glow  of  a  splen- 
did careless  exuberant  life  in  her  very  air,  a  current  of 
existence  too  swift  and  full  of  enjoyment  to  be  subdued 
even  by  public  misfortunes  whicli  were  distant,  and  inten- 
sified by  the  wonderful  spring,  superior  to  every  damping 
influence,  of  a  new  and  magnificent  development  of  art. 

The  two  Bellini  lived  and  labored  together  during  their 
father's  lifetime,  but  when  he  died,  though  never  losing 
their  muti^^al  brotherly  esteem  and  tender  friendship,  sep- 
arated, each  to  his  own  path.  Giovanni,  the  youngest  but 
greatest,  continued  faithful  to  the  subjects  and  methods 
in  which  he  had  been  trained,  and  which,  though  ail  the 
habits  of  the  world  were  changing,  still  remained  most  per- 
fectly understood  and  acceptable  to  his  countrymen.  The 
Divine  Mother  and  Child,  with  their  attendant  saints  and 
angels,  were  the  favorite  occupation  of  his  genius.  He 
must  have  placed  that  sweet  and  tender  image  over  scores 
of  altars.  Sometimes  the  Virgin  Mother  sits,  simple  and 
sweet,  yet  always  with  a  certain  grandeur  of  form  and 
natural  nobility,  not  the  slim  and  childish  beauty  of  more 
conventional  painters,  with  her  child  upon  her  knees : 
sometimes  enthroned,  holding  the  Sacred  Infant  erect,  offer- 
ing him  to  the  worship  of  the  world:  sometimes  with  reveren- 
tial humility  watching  Him  as  He  sleeps,  attended  on  either 
side  by  noble  spectator  figures,  a  little  court  of  devout  be- 
holders, the  saints  who  have  suffered  for  His  sake  ;  often 
with  lovely  children  seated  about  the  steps  of  her  throne, 
piping  tenderly  upon  their  heavenly  flutes,  thrilling  the 
chords  of  a  stringed  instrument,  with  a  serious  sweetness 
and  abstraction,  unconscious  of  anything  but  the  infant 
Lord  to  whom  their  eyes  are  turned.  No  more  endearing 
and  delightful  image  could  be  than  of  these  angel  children. 
They  were  a  fashion  of  the  age,  growing  in  the  hands  of 
Florentine  Botticelli  into  angelic  youths,  gravely  medi- 
tating upon  the  wonders  they  foresaw.  In  Kafael,  though 
so  much  later,  they  are   more  divine,  like  little  kindred 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  249 

gods,  waiting  in  an  unspeakable  awe  till  the  great  God 
should  be  revealed  ;  but  in  Bellini  more  sweet  and  human, 
younger,  all  tender  interest  and  delight,  piping  their  lovely 
strains  if  perhaps  they  might  give  Him  pleasure.  One  can- 
not but  conclude  that  he  who  painted  these  children  at  the 
foot  of  every  divine  group  in  twos  and  tlirees,  small  ex- 
quisite courtiers  of  the  infant  King,  first  fruits  of  human- 
ity, must  have  found  his  models  in  children  who  were  his 
own,  whose  dimpled,  delightful  limbs  were  within  reach 
of  his  kiss,  and  whose  unconscious  grace  of  movement  and 
wondering  sweet  eyes  were  before  him  continually.  The 
delightful  purity  and  gravity,  and  at  the  same  time  manli- 
ness, if  we  may  use  such  a  word,  of  these  pictures  is  be- 
yond expression.  There  is  no  superficial  grace  or  orna- 
ment about  them,  not  even  the  embrace  and  clinging 
together  of  mother  and  child,  which  in  itself  is  always  so 
touching  and  attractive,  the  attitude  of  humanity  which 
perhaps  has  a  stronger  and  simpler  hold  on  the  affections 
tiian  any  other.  Bellini's  Madonna,  raising  the  splendid 
column  of  her  throat,  holding  her  head  high  in  a  noble 
and  simple  abstraction,  offers  not  herself  but  her  Child  to 
our  eager  eyes.  She  too  is  a  spectator,  though  blessed 
among  women  in  holding  Ilim,  presenting  Him  to  our  gaze, 
making  of  her  own  perfect  womanhood  His  pedestal  and 
support,  but  all  unconscious  that  prayer  or  gaze  can  be 
attracted  to  herself,  in  everything  His  first  servant,  the 
handmaid  of  the  Lord.  The  painter  who  set  such  an  im- 
age before  us  could  scarcely  have  been  without  a  profound 
and  tender  respect  for  the  woman's  office,  an  exquisite 
adoration  for  the  Child. 

While  the  younger  brother  kept  in  this  traditional  path, 
giving  to  it  all  the  inspiration  of  his  manly  and  lofty  genius, 
his  brother  Gentile  entered  upon  a  different  way.  Probably 
he  too  began  in  his  father's  workshop  with  mild  Madonnas: 
but  ere  long  the  young  painter  must  have  found  out  that 
other  less  sacred  yet  noble  subjects  were  better  within  his 
range  of  power.  His  fancy  must  have  strayed  away  from 
the  primitive  unity  of  the  sacred  group  into  new  com- 
positions of  wider  horizon  and  more  extended  plan.     The 


250  "I'HE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

life  that  was  round  him  with  all  its  breadth  and  rich  variety 
must  have  beguiled  him  away  from  the  ideal.  The  pictures 
he  has  left  us  set  Venice  before  us  in  the  guise  she  then 
wore,  as  no  description  could  do.  In  the  two  great  examples 
which  remain  in  the  Venetian  Accademia  there  is  a  sacred 
motive:  they  are  chapters  in  the  story  of  a  miraculous 
holy  cross.  In  one,  the  sacred  relic  is  being  carried  across 
the  piazza,  attended  by  a  procession  of  wonderful  figures 
in  every  magnificence  of  white  and  red,  and  gilded  canopy 
and  embroidered  mantle.  And  there  stands  S.  Marco  in 
a  softened  blaze  of  gold  and  color,  with  all  the  fine  lines 
of  its  high  houses  and  colonnades,  the  Campanile  not 
standing  detached  as  now,  but  forming  part  of  the  line  of 
the  great  square;  and  in  the  midst,  looking  at  the  pro- 
cession, or  crossing  calmly  upon  their  own  business,  such 
groups  of  idlers  and  busy  men,  of  Eastern  travelers  and 
merchants,  of  gallants  from  the  Broglio,  with  here  and 
there  a  magistrate  sweeping  along  in  his  toga,  or  a  woman 
with  her  child,  as  no  one  had  tliought  of  painting  before. 
We  look,  and  the  life  that  has  been  so  long  over,  that  life 
in  which  all  the  offices  and  ceremonies  of  religion  occupy 
the  foreground,  but  where  nothing  pauses  for  them,  and 
business  and  pleasure  both  go  on  unconcerned,  rises  before 
us.  The  Venice  is  not  that  Venice  which  we  know;  but 
it  is  still  most  recognizable,  most  living  and  lifelike.  No 
such  procession  ever  sweeps  now  through  the  great  piazza; 
but  still  the  white  miters  and  glistening  copes  pour  through 
the  aisles  of  S.  Marco,  so  that  the  stranger  and  pilgrim 
may  still  recognize  the  unchangeable  accompaniments  of 
the  true  faith.  The  picture  is  like  a  book,  more  absolutely 
true  than  any  chronicle,  representing  not  only  the  looks 
and  the  customs  of  the  occasion,  but  the  very  scene.  How 
eagerly  the  people  must  have  traced  it  out  when  it  first 
was  made  public,  finding  out  in  every  group  some  known 
faces,  some  image  all  the  more  interesting  because  it  was 
met  in  the  flesh  every  day!  Is  that  perhaps  Zuan  Bellini 
himself,  with  his  hair  standing  out  round  his  face,  talking 
to  his  companions  about  the  passing  procession,  pointing 
out  the  curious  effects  of  light  and  shade  upon  the  crimson 


CLOISTEBS  OF  THE  ARWA7.IA, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  251 

capes  and  birettas,  and  watching  while  the  line  defiles  with 
its  glimmer  of  candles  and  sound  of  psalms  against  the 
majestic  shadow  of  the  houses?  Still  more  charactistic  is 
the  other  great  picture.  The  same  procession,  but  more 
in  evidence,  drawn  out  before  us  with  the  light  in  their 
faces  as  they  wind  along  over  the  bridge,  with  draperies 
hung  at  every  window  and  the  women  looking  out,  at 
every  opening  one  or  two  finely  ornamented  heads  in 
elaborate  coiffes  and  hoods;  while  along  the  P'ondamenta, 
on  the  side  of  the  canal,  a  row  of  ladies  in  the  most 
magnificent  costumes,  pilgrims  or  votaries  kneeling  close 
together,  with  all  their  ornaments — jeweled  necklaces  and 
coronets,  and  light  veils  of  transparent  tissue  through 
which  the  full  matronly  shoulders  and  countenances  appear 
unobscured — look  on,  privileged  spectators,  perhaps  wait- 
ing to  follow  in  the  procession.  It  is  a  curious  instance 
of  the  truth  of  the  picture  that  this  is  no  file  of  youthful 
beauties  such  as  a  painter  would  naturally  have  chosen, 
but,  with  scarcely  an  exception,  consists  of  buxom  and  full- 
blown mothers  with  here  and  there  a  child  thrust  in 
between.  It  is  said  by  tradition  that  the  first  of  those 
figures,  she  with  the  crown,  is  Catherine  Cornaro,  the 
ex-queen  of  Cyprus,  probably  come  from  her  retirement  at 
Asolo  to  view  the  procession  and  see  a  little  life  and  gayety, 
as  a  variation  on  the  cultured  retirement  of  that  royal 
villa.  The  object  of  the  picture  is  to  show  how  the  cross, 
which  has  fallen  into  the  canal  by  much  pushing  and 
crowding  of  the  populace,  floats  upright  in  the  water  and 
is  miraculously  rescued  by  its  guardian  in  full  priestly 
robes,  notwithstanding  the  eager  competition  of  all  manner 
of  swimmers  in  costumes  more  handy  for  the  water  who 
have  dashed  in  on  every  side;  but  this,  though  its  pious 
purpose,  is  not  its  most  interesting  part. 

It  is  difficult  as  has  been  said  to  find  any  guidance  of 
dates  in  the  dimness  of  distance,  in  respect  to  matters  so 
unimportant  as  pictures  ;  and  accordingly  we  are  unable  to 
trace  the  progress  of  the  decoration  in  the  great  hall.  It 
was  delayed  by  many  causes,  the  indifference  of  the  signoria 
and  the  lukewarm  interest  of  the  painters.     Gentile  Bellini 


252  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

received  permission  from  the  signoria  to  go  to  the  east  in 
1479,  and  is  there  described  as  engaged  on  the  restoration 
of  a  picture  in  this  magnificent  room,  originally  painted  or 
begun  by  his  namesake  (or,  as  we  should  say  in  Scotland, 
his  name  father — Jacopo  Bellini  having  named  his  eldest 
son  after  his  master)  Gentile  da  Fabriano — a  work  which 
the  magnificent  signoria  consider  his  brother  Giovanni  may 
well  be  deputed  to  finish  in  his  place.  Nor  is  it  more  easy 
to  discover  what  the  principle  was  which  actuated  the  sig- 
noria in  selecting  for  the  decoration  of  the  hall  that  special 
historical  episode  which  is  so  problematical,  and  of  which 
even  Sanudo  says,  doubting,  that  *Mf  it  had  not  happened 
our  good  Venetians  would  never  have  had  it  painted^'— a 
somewhat  equivocal  argument.  The  pertinacity  with  which 
the  same  subjects  were  repeated  three  times — first  by  the 
earliest  masters,  then,  in  the  full  glory  of  art  by  all  the 
best  of  the  Bellini  generation  and  by  that  of  Titian;  and  at 
last  in  the  decay  of  that  glory,  after  the  great  fire,  by  the 
Tizianellos  and  Vecellini,  the  successors  of  the  great  painters 
departed,  whose  works  remain — is  very  curious.  Perhaps 
something  even  in  the  apocryphal  character  of  this  great 
climax  of  glory  and  magnificence  for  Venice,  may  have 
pleased  the  imagination  and  suggested  a  bolder  pictorial 
treatment,  with  something  of  allegorical  meaning,  which 
would  have  been  less  appropriate  to  matters  of  pure  fact 
and  well-authenticated  history.  And  no  doubt  the  people 
who  thronged  to  look  at  the  new  pictures  believed  it 
all  entirely,  if  not  the  great  gentlemen  in  their  crimson 
robes,  the  senators  and  councilors  who  selected  these 
scenes  as  the  most  glorious  that  could  be  thought  of  in 
the  history  of  the  city  :  how  Venice  met  and  conquered 
the  naval  force  of  Barbarossa  and  made  her  own  terms 
with  him,  and  reconciled  the  two  greatest  potentates  of 
the  world,  the  pope  and  the  emperor,  was  enough  to  fill 
with  elation  even  the  great  republic.  And  the  authority 
of  fact  and  document  was  but  little  considered  in  those 
stormy  days. 

The  subject  on  which  Gentile  Bellini  was  at  work  when 
he  left  Venice  was  the  naval  combat  between   the  Doge 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  253 

Ziaiii  and  Prince  Otto,  son  of  Barbarossa,  which  ended  in 
the  completest  victory  ;  while  that  alloted  to  Giovanni 
Bellini  was  the  voyage  in  state  of  the  same  Doge  Ziani  to 
fetch  with  all  splendor  from  the  Carita  the  pope  who  was 
there  in  hiding  under  a  guise  of  excessive  humility — as  the 
cook  of  that  convent.  At  the  period  identified  thus  by  his 
brother's  departure  Giovanni  Bellini  must  have  been  over 
fifty,  so  that  his  promotion  did  not  come  too  soon.  It  is 
not,  however,  till  a  much  later  period  that  we  obtain  the 
next  glimpse  authentic  and  satisfactory  of  his  share  of  the 
great  public  work,  in  which  there  were  evidently  many 
lapses  and  delays  for  which  the  painters  were  to  blame,  as 
well  as  weary  postponements  from  one  officiars  term  of 
power  to  another.  Early  in  the  next  century,  however,  in 
1507,  in  some  pause  of  larger  affairs,  the  council  seems  to 
have  been  seized  with  a  sudden  movement  of  energy,  and 
resolved  that  it  would  be  no  small  ornament  to  their  hall  if 
three  pictures  begun  by  the  late  Alvice  Vivarini  could  be 
finished,  along  with  other  two,  one  of  which  was  not  even 
begun,  "  80  that  the  said  hall  might  be  completed  without 
the  impediments  which  have  hitherto  existed."  It  would 
almost  seem  to  be  the  pictures  confided  to  the  Bellini  which 
were  in  this  backward  condition,  for  the  signoria  makes  an 
appeal  over  again  to  "  the  most  faithful  cititen  our  Zuan 
Bellini  "  to  bestir  himself.  But  the  negligent  painter  must 
by  this  time  have  been  eighty  or  more,  and  it  was  evidently 
necessary  that  he  should  have  help  in  so  great  an  undertak- 
ing. His  brother  had  died  that  year  a  very  old  man,  and 
a  younger  brotherhood  was  coming  to  light.  And  here  we 
find  what  seems  the  first  public  recognition  of  another  name 
which  is  closely  connected  with  those  of  the  Bellini  in  our 
minds,  and  to  which  recent  criticism  has  allotted  even  a 
higher  place  than  theirs.  The  noble  senators  or  councilors 
suddenly  coming  out  of  the  darkness  for  this  object,  appear 
to  us  for  a  moment  like  masters  of  the  ceremonies  intro- 
ducing a  new  immortal.  *'  Messer  Vector,  called  Scarpazza," 
is  the  assistant  whom  they  designate  for  old  Zuan  Bellini, 
along  with  two  names  unknown  to  fame,  *^  Messer  Vector, 
late  Mathio,"  and  **  Girolamo,  painter/'  no  doubt  a  novice 


254  THE  MxiKEBS  OF  VENICE. 

whose  reputation  was  yet  to  win.  Carpaccio  was  to  have 
five  ducats  a  month  for  his  work;  the  other,  Messer  Vector 
four;  Girolamo,  the  youth^  only  two — ''  and  tlie  same  are 
to  be  diligent  and  willing  in  aid  of  the  said  Ser.  Zuan  Bellini 
in  painting  the  aforesaid  pictures,  so  that  as  diligently  and 
in  as  little  time  as  is  possible  they  may  be  completed."  A 
warning  note  is  added  in  Latin  (perhaps  to  make  it  more 
solemn  and  binding)  of  the  conditions  above  set  forth — in 
which  it  is  *' expressly  declared  "  that  the  little  band  of 
painters  bind  themselves  to  work  '^continuously  and  every 
day" — laborare  de  continuo  et  omni  die.  This  betrays  an 
inclination  on  the  part  of  the  painters  to  avoid  the  public 
work  which  it  is  amusing  to  see.  Let  us  hope  thesignoria 
succeeded  in  getting  tlieir  orders  respected  ;  no  ab£encesto 
finish  a  Madonna  or  Saint  Ursula  which  paid  better,  per- 
haps both  in  fame  and  money  ;  no  returning  to  the  public 
service  when  private  commissions  failed;  no  greater  price 
for  what  may  be  called  piece  work,  for  specially  noble 
productions  ;  but  steady  labor  day  by  day  at  four  or  five 
ducats  a  month  as  might  be,  with  the  pupil-Journeyman  to 
clean  the  palettes  and  run  the  errands  !  In  Venice,  as  in 
other  places,  it  is  clear  that  the  state  service  was  not  lucra- 
tive for  art. 

Six  years  after,  we  find  the  work  still  going  on,  and 
another  workman  is  added.  '^  In  this  council  it  was  decided 
that  Tiziano,  painter  \'pytor'\,  should  be  admitted  to  work 
in  the  hall  of  the  Great  Council  with  the  other  painters, 
without  however  any  salary,  except  the  agreed  sum  which 
has  usually  been  given  to  those  who  have  painted  here,  who 
are  Gentile  and  Zuan  Bellini  and  Vector  Scarpazza.  This 
Tiziano  to  be  the  same."  It  will  strike  the  reader  with 
a  certain  panic  to  see  with  what  indifference  these  great 
names  are  bandied  about  as  if  they  were  the  names  of  a  set 
of  decorators  ;  one  feels  an  awed  desire  to  ask  their  pardon  ! 
But  not  so  the  great  Ten,  who  held  the  lives  and  fortunes 
of  all  Venetians  in  their  hands. 

About  the  date  when  old  Bellini  was  thus  conjured  to 
complete  or  superintend  the  completion  of  the  wanting 
pictures,  another  painter  from  a  very  different  region — 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  255 

from  a  landward  town  fortified  to  its  ears  and  full  of  all 
mediaeval  associations,  in  the  middle  of  Germany — came  to 
Venice.  The  high  peaked  roofs  and  picturesque  turrets  of 
Nuremberg  were  not  more  unlike  the  rich  and  ample 
fa9Hdes  of  the  Venetian  palaces,  or  the  glow  and  glory  of 
Venetian  churches,  than  was  the  sober  life  of  the  Teuton 
unlike  the  gay  and  genial  existence  of  the  Venetians. 
Albert  Diirer  found  himself  in  a  southern  paradise.  He 
gives  the  same  account  of  that  Venetian  life  at  first  hand 
as  Vasari  does  in  his  historical  retrospect.  He  finds 
himself  among  a  crowd  of  pleasant  companions ;  players 
on  the  lute,  so  accomplished  and  sensitive  that  their 
own  music  makes  them  weep  :  and  all,  great  and  small, 
eager  to  see,  to  admire,  to  honor  the  great  artist.  **^  Oh, 
how  I  shall  freeze  after  this  sunshine  !  Here  I  am  a 
gentleman,  at  home  only  a  dependant,"  he  cries,  elated, 
yet  cast  down  by  the  difference,  and  to  think  that  all 
these  fine  Italian  lords  think  more  highly  of  him  than 
his  bourgeois  masters  in  Nuremburg.  Sanbellini,  he  tells 
his  friends,  has  come  to  see  him,  the  venerable  old  man 
— very  old,  but  still  the  best  painter  of  them  all,  and  a 
good  man,  as  everybody  says  :  and  from  this  master  he 
receives  the  sweetest  praise,  and  a  commission  to  paint 
something  for  him  for  which  he  promises  to  pay  well. 
Old  Zuan  Bellini,  with  has  vivacious  Venetian  ways,  and 
the  solemn  German,  with  his  long  and  serious  counte- 
nance, like  a  prophet  in  the  desert — what  a  contrast  they 
must  have  made  I  But  they  had  one  language  between 
them  at  least,  the  tongue  which  every  true  artist  under- 
stands, the  delightful  secret  freemasonry  and  brotherhood 
of  art. 

It  was  when  he  had  arrived  at  this  venerable  age,  over 
eighty,  but  still  coming  and  going,  about  these  pictures  in 
the  great  hall,  and  alert  to  hear  of  and  visit  the  stranger 
from  Germany  who  brought  the  traditions  of  another  school 
to  Venice — that  Bellini  painted  his  last  or  almost  last 
picture,  so  touching  in  its  appropriateness  to  his  great  age 
and  concluding  life,  the  old  St.  Jerome  in  San  Giovanni 
Grisostomo,  seated  high  upon  a  solitary  mount  with  a  couple 


256  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

of  admiring  saints  below.  Perhaps  he  had  begun  to  feel 
that  old  age  needs  no  desert,  but  is  always  solitary  even  in 
the  midst  of  all  pupils  and  followers.  He  did  not  die  till 
he  was  ninety.  It  was  the  fashion  among  the  painters  of 
Venice  to  live  to  old  age.  Among  other  works  for  the 
great  hall,  it  is  understood  that  Bellini  painted  many 
portraits  of  the  doges,  of  which  one  remains,  familiar  to  us 
all,  the  picture  now  in  our  National  Gallery  of  that  wonder- 
ful old  man  with  his  sunken  eyes  of  age,  so  full  of  subtle 
life  and  power,  the  portrait  which  forms  the  frontispiece  of 
this  volume.  History  bears  no  very  strong  impression  of 
the  character  of  Leonardo  Loredano.  He  held  the  realm 
of  state  bravely  at  a  time  of  great  trial:  but  the  office  of 
doge  by  this  time  had  come  to  be  of  comparatively  small  im- 
portance to  the  constitution  of  Venice;  however,  of  all  the 
potent  doges  of  Venetian  chronicles,  he  alone  may  be  said 
to  live  forever.  With  all  these  thinkings,  astute  yet 
humorous,  which  are  recorded  in  his  eyes,  and  his  mouth 
scarcely  sure  whether  to  set  with  thin  lips  in  the  form  it 
took  to  pronounce  a  fatal  sentence  or  to  soften  into  a  smile, 
this  dry  and  small,  yet  so  dignified  and  splendid  old  man 
remains  the  impersonation  of  that  mysterious  and  secret 
authority  of  the  republic  by  which,  alas!  tlie  doges  suffered 
more  than  they  enjoyed.  The  painter  is  said  in  his  momens 
perdus  to  have  painted  many  portraits — among  others  that 
Imagine  celeste  shining  like  the  sun,  which  made  Bembo, 
though  a  cardinal,  burst  into  song: 

"Credo  che  il  mio  Bellin  con  la  figura, 
T'babbia  dato  il  costume  anche  di  lei, 
Che  m'ardi  s'io  ti  mira,  e  pur  tu  sei, 
Freddo  smalte  a  cui  gionse  alta  ventura." 

In  the  meantime  the  elder  brother.  Gentile,  had  met 
with  adventures  more  remarkable.  In  the  year  1479,  as 
has  been  noted,  the  signoria  commissioned  him  to  go  to 
Constantinople  at  the  request  of  the  sultan,  who  had  beg- 
ged that  a  painter  might  be  sent  to  exhibit  his  powers,  or 
— as  some  say — who  had  seen  a  picture  by  one  of  the  Bel- 


PORTRAIT  OF  SULTAN:  GENTILE  BELLINL 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  257 

lini  carried  thither  among  the  stores  of  some  Venetian 
niercliant.  and  desired  to  see  how  such  a  wonderful  thing 
could  be  done.  This  is,  we  may  point  out  by  the  way,  a 
thing  well  worthy  of  remark  as  a  sign  of  the  wonderful 
changes  that  had  taken  phice  in  tlie  East  without  seriously 
altering  the  long  habit  of  trade,  and  the  natural  alliance, 
in  spite  of  all  interruptions,  between  buying  and  selling 
communities.  Even  within  these  simple  pages  we  have 
seen  tlie  Venetians  fighting  and  struggling,  making  a  hun- 
dred treaties,  negotiating  long  and  anxiously  for  charters 
and  privileges  from  the  Greek  empire  in  the  capital  of  the 
East,  then  helping  to  destroy  that  imperial  house,  seizing 
tlie  city,  setting  up  a  short-lived  Latin  empire,  making 
themselves  rich  with  the  spoils  of  Constantinople.  And 
now  both  these  races  and  dynasties  are  swept  away,  and  the 
infidel  has  got  possession  of  the  once  splendid  Christian 
city,  and  for  a  time  has  threatened  all  Europe,  and  Venice 
first  of  all.  But  the  moment  the  war  is  stopped,  however 
short  may  be  the  truce,  and  however  changed  the  circum- 
stances, trade  indomitable  has  pushed  forward  with  its  car- 
goes, sure  that  at  least  the  Turk's  gold  is  as  good  as  the 
Christian's,  and  his  carpets  and  shawls  perhaps  better,  who 
knows?  There  is  notliing  so  impartial  as  commerce  so 
long  as  money  is  to  be  maJe.  Scutari  had  scarcely  ceased 
to  smoke  when  Gentile  Bellini  was  sent  to  please  the  Turk, 
and  prove  that  the  republic  bore  no  malice.  One  can  imag- 
ine that  the  painter  went,  not  without  trepidation,  among 
the  proud  and  hated  invaders  who  had  thus  changed  the 
face  of  the  eartli.  The  grim  monarch  before  whom  Europe 
trembled  received  him  with  courtesy  and  favor,  and  Gentile 
painted  his  portrait,  and  that  of  his  queen — no  doubt  some 
chosen  member  of  the  harem  whom  the  Venetian  chose  to 
represent  as  the  sharer  of  Mohammed's  throne. 

The  portrait  of  the  sultan,  formally  dated,  has  been 
brought  back  to  Venice,  after  four  hundred  years  and  many 
vicissitudes,  by  Sir  Henry  Layard.  It  represents  no  mur- 
derous Turk,  but  a  face  of  curious  refinement,  almost 
feebla,  though  full  of  the  impassive  calm  of  an  unquestioned 
despot.     The  Venetian  as  the  story  goes  had  begun  to  be 


258  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

at  his  ease,  cheered,  no  doubt,  by  the  condescension  of  the 
autocrat  before  whom  all  prostrated  themselves,  but  who 
showed  no  pride  to  the  painter,  and  by  the  unanimous 
marveling  surprise,  as  at  a  prodigy,  of  all  beholders,  when 
a  horrible  incident  occurred.  He  would  seem  to  have  gone 
on  painting  familiar  subjects  notwithstanding  the  inappro- 
priateness  of  his  surroundings,  and  had  just  finished  the 
story  of  John  the  Baptist  "  who  was  reverenced  by  the 
Turks  as  a  prophet."  But  when  he  exhibited  the  head  of 
the  Baptist  on  the  charger  to  the  sultan,  that  potentate 
began  to  criticise,  as  a  man  who  at  last  finds  himself  on 
familiar  ground.  He  told  the  painter  that  his  anatomy 
was  wrong,  and  that  when  the  head  was  severed  from  the 
body,  the  neck  disappeared  altogether.  No  doubt  with 
modesty,  but  firmly,  the  painter  would  defend  his  work, 
probably  forgetting  that  the  sultan  had  in  this  particular  a 
much  greater  experience  than  he.  But  Mohammed  was  no 
man  to  waste  words.  He  called  a  slave  to  him  on  the  spot, 
and  whether  with  his  own  ready  sword  or  by  some  other 
hand,  swept  off  in  a  trice  the  poor  wretch's  head,  that  the 
painter  might  be  no  longer  in  any  doubt  as  to  the  effect. 
This  horrible  lesson  in  anatomy  was  more  than  Gentile's 
nerves  could  bear,  and  it  is  not  wonderful  that  from  that 
moment  he  never  ceased  his  efforts  to  get  his  dismissal, 
"  not  knowing,''  says  Ridolfi,  *' whether  some  day  a  similar 
jest  might  not  be  played  on  him."  Finally  he  was  per- 
mitted to  return  home  with  laudatory  letters  and  the  title 
of  cavaliere,  and  a  chain  of  gold  of  much  value  round  his 
neck.  The  Venetian  authorities  either  felt  that  a  man 
who  had  risked  so  much  to  please  the  sultan  and  keep  up  a 
good  understanding  with  him  was  worth  a  reward,  or  they 
did  not  venture  to  neglect  the  recommendation  of  so  great 
a  potentate — for  they  gave  the  painter  a  pension  of  two 
hundred  ducats  a  year  for  his  life.  And  he  was  in  time  to 
resume  his  pencil  in  the  great  hall  where  Ridolfi  gives  him 
the  credit  of  five  of  the  pictures,  painted  in  great  part  after 
his  return.  All  this  no  doubt  splendid  series  was  destroyed 
a  hundred  years  after  by  fire  ;  but  as  has  been  already  noted, 
the  subjects  were  repeated  in  the  subsequent  pictures  which 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE, 


259 


still  exist,  although  these,  with  the  exception  of  one  by 
Tintoretto  and  one  by  Paoio  Veronese,  were  executed  by 
less  remarkable  hands. 

Gentile  Bellini  died  in  1507,  at  the  age  of  eighty,  his 
brother  nearly  ten  years  after  :  they  were  both  laid  with  so 
many  others  of  their  brotherhood  in  the  great  church  of 


ANGEL  FROM  CARPACCIO. 


San  Giovanni  e  Paolo,  where  the  traveler  may  see  their 
names  upon  the  pavement  in  all  humility  and  peace. 

The  nearest  to  these  two  brothers  in  the  meaning  and 
sentiment  of  his  work  is  Victor  Carpaccio.  His  place 
would  almost  seem  to  lie  justly  between  them.  He  is  the 
first  illustrator  of  religious  life  and  legend  in  Venice,  as 
well  as  the  most  delightful  story-teller  of  his  time,  the 
finest  poet  in  a  city  not  given  to  audible  verse.  The  ex- 
treme devotion  which  Mr.  Ruskin  has  for  this  painter  has 


260  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

perhaps  raised  him  to  a  pedestal  which  is  slightly  factitious 
— at  least  so  far  as  the  crowd  is  concerned,  who  follow  the 
great  writer  without  comprehending  him,  and  are  apt  to 
make  the  worsliip  a  little  ridiculous.  But  there  is  enough 
in  the  noble  series  of  pictures  which  set  forth  the  visionary 
life  of  St.  Ursula  to  justify  a  great  deal  of  enthusiasm.  No 
more  lovely  picture  was  ever  painted  than  that  which 
represents  the  young  princess  lying  wrapped  in  spotless 
slumber,  seeing  in  her  dream  the  saintly  life  before  her 
and  the  companion  of  her  career,  the  prince,  half  knight, 
half  angel,  whose  image  hovers  at  the  door.  The  wonder- 
ful mediaeval  room  with  all  its  slender  antique  furniture, 
the  soft  dawn  in  the  window,  the  desk  where  the  maiden 
has  said  her  prayers,  the  holy  water  over  her  head,  form  a 
dim  harmonious  background  of  silence  and  virgin  solitude. 
And  what  could  surpass  the  profound  and  holy  sleep,  so 
complete,  so  peaceful,  so  serene  in  which  she  lies,  lulled  by 
the  solemn  sweetness  of  her  vision,  in  which  there  is  no  un- 
rest as  of  earthly  love  always  full  of  disquiet,  but  a  soft  awe 
and  stillness  as  of  great  tragic  possibilities  foreseen.  The 
other  pictures  of  the  series  may  be  more  rich  in  incident 
and  expression,  and  have  a  higher  dramatic  interest,  but  the 
sleep  of  Ursula  is  exquisite,  and  goes  to  every  heart. 

The  San  Giorgio  in  the  little  church  of  the  Slavs,  de- 
taches itself  in  a  similar  way  from  all  others,  and  presents 
to  the  imagination  a  companion  picture.  Ursula  has  no 
companion  in  her  own  story  that  is  so  worthy  of  her  as  this 
St.  George.  Her  prince  is  only  a  vision,  he  is  absorbed  in 
her  presence,  a  shadow,  whom  the  painter  has  scarcely 
taken  the  trouble  to  keep  of  one  type,  or  recognizable 
throughout  the  series.  But  the  San  Giorgio  of  the  Schia- 
voni  remains  in  our  thouglits,  a  vision  of  youthful  power 
and  meaning,  worthy  to  be  that  maiden's  mate.  No  sleep 
for  him,  or  dreams.  He  puts  his  horse  at  the  dragon  with 
an  intent  and  stern  diligence  as  if  there  were  (as  truly  there 
was  not)  no  moment  to  lose,  no  breath  to  draw,  till  his 
mission  had  been  accomplislied.  A  swift  fierceness  and 
determination  is  in  every  line  of  him  ;  his  spear,  which 
seems  at  first  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  horse,  is  so  on  pur- 


UBSULA  BKCEIVINO  HER  BRIDEGROOM: 


To /ace  pogre  260. 

FROM  CARPACCIO. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE, 


201 


pose  to  get  a  stronger  leverage  in  tlie  tremendous  charge. 
The  dragon  is  quite  a  poor  creature  to  call  forth  all  that 
force  of  righteous  passion  ;  but  we  tliink  nothing  of  its 
abject  meanness,  all  sympathy  and  awe  being  concentrated 
in  the  champion's  heavenly  wrath  and  inspiration  of  pur- 
pose. We  do  not  pretend  to  follow  the  great  critic  who  has 
thrown  all  his  own  tender  yet  fiery  genius  into  the  elucida- 


HEAD  OP  ST.   GEORGE. 


tion  of  every  quip  and  freak  of  fancy  in  this  elaborate  me- 
diaeval poem.  The  low  and  half  lighted  walls  of  the  little 
brown  church,  which  bears  a  sort  of  homely  resemblance  to 
an  English  Little  Bethel,  enshrine  for  us  chiefly  this  one 
heroic  semblance,  and  no  more:  and  we  do  not  attempt  to 
discuss  the  painting  from  any  professional  point  of  view. 
But  we  are  very  sure  that  this  knight  and  maiden,  though 
they  never  can  belong  to  each  other,  will  find  their  places 
in  every  sympathetic  soul  that  sees  them  together — George 
charging  down  in  abstract  holy  wrath  upon  the  impersona- 
tion of  sin  and  evil,  Ursula  dreaming  of  the  great,  sad,  yet 
fair  life  before  her,  the  pilgrim's  journey,  and  the  martyr^s 
palm. 


262  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

The  lives  of  the  saints  were  the  popular  poetry  of  Christen- 
dom, catholic  and  universal  beyond  all  folk-lore  and  folks- 
lieder,  before  even  thelimitsof  existing  continental  nations 
were  formed.  All  the  elements  of  romance,  as  well  as  that 
ascetic  teaching  and  doctrine  of  boundless  self-sacrifice 
which  commends  itself  always  to  the  primitive  mind  as  the 
highest  type  of  religion,  were  to  be  found  in  these  primi- 
tive tales,  which  are  never  so  happy  as  when  taking  the 
youngest  and  fairest  and  noblest  from  all  the  delights  of 
life,  and  setting  them  amid  the  mediaeval  horrors  of  plague 
and  destitution.  Carpaccio^s  saints,  however,  belong  to 
even  an  earlier  variety  of  the  self-devoted,  the  first  heroes 
of  humanity.  It  is  for  the  faith  that  they  contend  and 
die  ;  they  are  the  ideal  emissaries  of  a  divine  religion  but 
newly  unveiled  and  surrounded  by  a  dark  and  horrible  in- 
fidel world  which  is  to  be  converted  only  by  the  blood  of 
the  martyrs ;  or  by  mysterious  forms  of  evil,  devouring 
dragons  and  monsters  of  foul  iniquity,  who  must  be  slain 
or  led  captive  by  the  spotless  warriors  in  whom  there  is 
nothing  kindred  to  their  rapacious  foulness.  Perhaps  it  is 
because  of  the  vicinity  of  Venice  to  the  east,  and  of  the 
continual  conflict  with  the  infidel  which  crusades  and  other 
enterprises  less  elevated  had  made  more  familiar  than  any 
other  enemy  to  the  imagination  of  the  city  of  the  sea,  that 
Carpaccio^s  story-telling  is  all  of  this  complexion.  The 
German  painter  from  over  the  Alps  had  his  dreams  of 
sweet  Elizabeth  with  the  loaves  in  her  lap  which  turned  to 
roses,  and  the  leper  whom  she  laid  in  the  prince's  bed, 
when  our  Venetian  conceived  his  Ursula  forewarned  of  all 
that  must  follow,  leaving  home  and  father  to  convert  the 
heathen,  or  that  strenuous  grave  St.  George,  with  stern 
fierce  eyes  aflame,  cutting  down  the  monster  who  was  evil 
embodied. 

These  were  the  earliest  of  all  lieroic  tales  in  Christendom, 
and  Carpaccio's  art  was  that  of  the  ministrel-historian  as 
well  as  the  painter.  He  knew  how  to  choose  his  incidents 
and  construct  his  plot  like  any  story-teller,  so  that  those, 
if  there  were  any,  in  Venice  who  did  not  care  for  pictures 
might  still  be  caught  by  the  interest  of  his  tale,  and  follow 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  263 

breathless,  the  fortunes  of  the  royal  maiden,  or  that  great 
episode  of  heroic  adventure  which  has  made  so  many  na- 
tions choose  St.  George  as  their  patron  saint.  Gentile 
Bellini  had  found  out  how  the  aspect  of  real  life  and  all  its 
accessories  might  bo  turned  to  use  in  art,  and  how  warm 
was  the  interest  of  the  spectators  in  the  representation  of 
the  things  and  places  with  which  they  were  most  familiar  ; 
but  Carpaccio  made  a  step  beyond  his  old  master  when  he 
discovered  tliat  art  was  able,  not  only  to  make  an  incident 
immortal,  but  to  tell  a  story,  and  draw  the  very  hearts  of 
beholders  out  of  their  bosoms,  as  sometimes  an  eloquent 
friar  in  the  pulpit,  or  story-teller  upon  the  Riva,  with  his 
group  of  entranced  listeners,  could  do.  And  having  made 
this  discovery,  though  it  was  already  the  time  of  the  Re- 
naissance and  all  the  uncleanly  gods  of  the  heathen,  with  all 
their  fables,  were  coming  back,  for  tlie  diversion  and  de- 
light of  the  licentious  and  the  learned,  this  painter  sternly 
turned  his  back  upon  all  these  new-fangled  interests,  and 
entranced  all  Venice,  though  she  loved  pleasure,  and  to 
pipe  and  sing  and  wear  fine  dresses  and  flaunt  in  the  sun- 
shine, with  the  story  of  the  devoted  princess  and  her 
maiden  train,  and  with  St.  George,  all  swift  and  fierce  in 
youthful  wrath,  slaying  the  old  dragon,  the  emblem  of  all 
ill,  the  devouring  lust  and  cruelty,  whose  ravages  devas- 
tated an  entire  kingdom  and  devoured  both  man  and  maid. 
But  of  the  man  who  did  this  we  know  nothing,  not  even 
where  he  was  born  or  where  he  died.  He  has  been  said  to 
belong  to  Istria  because  there  has  been  found  there  a 
family  of  Carpaccio,  among  whom,  from  time  immemorial, 
the  eldest  son  has  been  called  Victor  or  Vettore  ;  but  that 
this  is  the  painter's  family  is  a  matter  of  pure  conjecture. 
The  diligent  researches  of  Signor  Molmenti,  who  has  done 
BO  much  to  elucidate  Venetian  manners  and  life,  has  found 
in  the  archives  of  a  neighboring  state,  a  letter,  perhaps  the 
only  intelligible  trace  of  Carpaccio  as  an  ordinary  mortal 
and  not  an  inspired  painter,  which  is  in  existence.  It 
affords  us  no  revelation  of  high  meaning  or  purpose,  but 
only  a  homely  view  of  a  man  with  no  greater  pretensions 
than  those  of  an  houest  workman  living  on  his  earnings. 


264  THE  MAKERS  OF  VEFIGE, 

reluctant  to  lose  a  commission,  and  eager  to  recommend 
himself  to  a  liberal  and  well-paying  customer.  It  shows 
him  upon  no  elevation  of  poetic  meaning  such  as  we  might 
have  preferred  to  see;  but  after  all,  even  in  heroic  days, 
there  was  nothing  contrary  to  inspiration  in  selling  your 
picture  and  commending  yourself  as  much  as  was  in  you, 
to  who  would  buy.  And  it  is  evident  that  Carpaccio  had 
much  confidence  in  the  excellence  of  the  work  he  had  to 
sell,  and  felt  that  his  wares  were  second  to  none.  The 
letter  is  addressed  to  the  well-known  amateur  and  patron 
of  artists,  lie  who  was  the  first  to  make  Titian^s  fortune, 
Francesco  Gonzaga,  Lord  of  Mantua. 

"  Illustrissimo  Signor  mio: 

**  Some  days  ago  a  person  unknown  to  me,  conducted  by 
certain  otliers,came  to  me  to  see  a  "Jerusalem"  which  I  have  made,and 
as  soon  as  he  had  seen  it,  with  great  pertinacity  insisted  that  I  should 
sell  it  to  him,  because  he  felt  it  to  be  a  thing  out  of  which  he  would 
get  great  content  and  satisfaction.  Finally  we  made  a  bargain  by 
mutual  agreement,  but  since  then  I  have  seen  no  more  of  him.  To 
clear  up  the  matter  I  asked  those  who  had  brought  him,  among  whom 
was  a  priest,  bearded  and  clad  in  gray,  whom  I  had  several  times  seen 
in  the  hall  of  the  Great  Council  with  your  highness  ;  of  whom  asking 
his  name  and  condition  I  was  told  that  he  was  Messer  Laurentio, 
painter  to  your  illustrious  highness — by  which  I  easily  understood 
where  this  person  might  be  found,  and  accordingly  I  direct  these 
presents  to  your  illustrious  highness  to  make  you  acquainted  with  my 
name  as  well  as  with  the  work  in  question.  First,  signor  mio,  I  am 
that  painter  by  whom  your  illustrious  highness  was  conducted  to  see 
the  pictures  in  the  great  hall,  when  your  illustrious  highness  deigned 
to  ascend  the  scaffolding  to  see  our  work,  which  was  the  story  of 
Ancona,  and  my  name  is  Victor  Carpatio.  Concerning  the  "Jerusalem" 
I  take  upon  me  to  say  that  in  our  times  there  is  not  another  picture 
equal  to  it,  not  only  for  excellence  and  perfection,  but  also  for  size. 
The  height  of  the  picture  is  twenty-five  feet,  and  the  width  is  five  feet 
and  a  half,  according  to  the  measure  of  such  things,  and  I  know  that 
of  this  work  Zuane  Zamberti  has  spoken  to  your  sublimity.  Also  it 
is  true,  and  I  know  certainly,  that  the  aforesaid  painter  belonging  to 
your  service  has  carried  away  a  sketch  incomplete  and  of  small  size 
which  I  am  sure  will  not  be  to  your  highness'  satisfaction.  If  it  should 
please  your  highness  to  submit  the  picture  first  to  the  inspection  of 
some  judicious  men,  on  a  word  of  guarantee  being  given  to  me  it  shall 
be  at  your  highness'  disposal.  The  work  is  in  distemper  on  canvas, 
and  it  can  be  rolled  round  a  piece  of  wood  without  any  detriment.    If 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  j)65 

it  should  please  you  to  desire  it  in  color,  it  rests  with  your  illustrious 
highness  to  command,  and  to  me  with  profoundest  study  to  execute. 
Of  the  price  I  say  nothing,  remitting  it  entirely  to  your  illustrious 
highness,  to  whom  I  humbly  commend  myself  this  15th  day  of 
August,  1511,  at  Venice. 

"  Da  V.  Subl.  humilo.  Servitore, 

"Victor  Carpathio,  Pictore." 

Whether  the  anxious  painter  got  the  commission,  or  if 
his  sublimity  of  Mantua  thought  the  humble  missive  be- 
neath his  notice,  or  if  the  *^  Jerusalem  "  was  ever  put  into 
color  cum  surnmo  studiOy  will  probably  never  be  known  ; 
but  here  he  appears  to  us,  a  man  very  open  to  commissions, 
eager  for  work,  probably  finding  tlie  four  ducats  a 
month  of  the  signoria  poor  pay,  and  losing  no  opportunity 
of  making  it  up.  But  though  the  painter  is  anxious  and 
conciliatory,  he  does  not  deceive  himself  as  to  the  excel- 
lence of  his  work.  He  takes  upon  him  to  say  that  there  is 
no  better  picture  to  be  had  in  his  time,  and  gives  the 
measure  of  it  with  simplicity,  feeling  that  this  test  of  great- 
ness at  least  must  be  within  his  correspondent's  capacity. 
And  one  cannot  but  remark  with  a  smile  how  this  old 
demi-god  of  art  in  the  heroic  age  was  ready  to  forward  his 
picture  to  the  purchaser  rolled  round  a  piece  of  wood,  as  we 
send  the  humble  photograph  nowadays  by  the  post  !  How 
great  a  difference  !  yet  with  something  odd  and  touching 
of  human  resemblance  too. 

Of  the  great  painters  of  the  following  generation  who 
raised  the  Venetian  school  to  the  height  of  glory,  almost 
all  who  were  born  subjects  of  the  republic  passed  through 
the  studio  of  the  Bellini.  The  historians  tell  us  how  young 
Giorgio  of  Castel  Franco  awoke  a  certain  despite  in  the 
breast  of  his  master  by  his  wonderful  progress  and  divina- 
tion in  the  development  of  art — seizing  such  secrets  as  were 
yet  to  discover,  and  conjuring  away  a  certain  primitive 
rigidity  which  still  remained  in  the  work  of  the  elders  : 
and  how  young  Tiziano,  from  his  mountain  village,  entered 
into  the  method  of  his  fellow-pupil,  and  both  together 
carried  tlieir  mystery  of  glorious  color  and  easy  splendid 
composition  to  its  climax  in  Venice.    But  the  feeling  and 


266  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

and  criticism  of  the  present  age,  so  largely  influenced  by 
Mr.  Ruskin,  are  rather  disposed  to  pass  that  grand  perfec- 
tion by,  and  return  with  devotion  to  the  simple  splendor 
of  those  three  early  masters  who  are  nearer  to  the 
fountain  head,  and  retain  a  more  absolute  reality  and 
sincerity  in  their  work.  Gentile  Bellini  painting  behind 
and  around  his  miracle  the  genuine  Venice  which  he  saw, 
a  representation  more  authentic  and  graphic  than  any  that 
history  can  make  :  and  Carpaccio  giving  life  and  substance 
to  the  legends  which  embodied  literature  and  poetry  and 
the  highest  symbolical  morals  to  the  people — express  the 
fact  of  every-day  life  and  the  vision  and  the  faculty  di- 
vine of  a  high  and  pure  imagination,  with  a  force  and 
intensity  which  are  not  in  their  more  highly-trained  and 
conventionally  perfect  successors.  And  as  for  the  third,  in 
some  respects  the  noblest  of  the  three — he  whose  genius 
sought  no  new  path,  who  is  content  with  the  divine  group 
which  his  homely  forefathers  had  drawn  and  daubed  be- 
fore him,  but  wliich  it  was  his  to  set  forth  for  the  first  time 
in  Venice  in  all  the  luster  of  the  new  method  of  color 
which  he  and  his  successors  carried  to  such  glow  and  splen- 
dor that  all  that  is  most  brilliant  in  it  is  called  Venetian — 
where  shall  we  find  a  more  lovely  image  of  the  Mother  and 
the  Child  than  that  which  he  sets  before  us,  throned  in 
grave  seclusion  in  the  Frari,  humbly  retired  behind  that 
window  in  the  Accademia,  shining  forth  over  so  many 
altars  in  other  places,  in  a  noble  and  modest  perfection  ? 
The  angel  children  sounding  their  simple  lutes,  looking  up 
with  frank  and  simple  childisli  reverence,  all  sweet  and 
human,  to  the  miraculous  Child,  have  something  in  them 
which  is  as  much  beyond  the  conventional  cherubic  heads 
and  artificial  ornamented  angels  of  the  later  art  as  heaven 
is  beyond  earth,  or  the  true  tenderness  of  imagination  be- 
yond the  fantastic  inventions  of  fiction.  And  if  Rafael  in 
our  days  must  give  way  to  Botticelli,  with  how  much 
greater  reason  should  Titian  in  the  height  of  art,  all  earthly 
splendor  and  voluptuous  glow,  give  place  to  the  lovely  im- 
aginations of  old  Zuan  Bellini,  the  father  of  Venetian  art ! 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  267 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   SECOND   GENERATION. 

The  day  of  art  had  now  fully  risen  in  Venice.  The 
dawning  had  been  long,  progressing  slowly  through  all  the 
early  efforts  of  decoration  and  ornament,  and  by  the  dim 
religious  light  of  nameless  masters,  to  the  great  moment  in 
which  the  Bellini  revealed  themselves,  making  Venice 
splendid  with  tlie  sunrise  of  a  new  faculty,  entirely  con- 
genial to  her  temperament  and  desires.  It  would  almost 
appear  as  if  the  first  note,  once  struck,  of  a  new  departure 
in  life  or  in  art,  was  enough  to  wake  up  in  all  the  regions 
within  hearing  the  predestined  workers,  who  but  for  that 
awaking  might  have  slumbered  forever,  or  found  in  other 
fields  an  incomplete  development.  While  it  is  beyond 
the  range  of  human  powers  to  determine  what  cause  or 
agency  it  is  which  enables  the  first  fine  genius — the  maker 
who  in  every  mode  of  creative  work  is  like  the  great  priest 
of  the  Old  Testament,  without  father  and  without  mother 
— to  burst  all  bonds  and  outstep  all  barriers,  it  is  compara- 
tively easy  to  trace  how,  under  his  influence  and  by  the 
stimulus  of  a  sudden  new  impulse  felt  to  be  almost  divine, 
his  successors  may  spring  into  light  and  being.  Nothing  to 
our  humble  thinking  explains  tlie  Bellini:  but  the  Bellini 
to  a  certain  extent  explain  Titian  and  all  the  other  splen- 
dors to  come. 

When  the  thrill  of  the  new  beginning  had  gone  through 
all  the  air,  mounting  up  among  the  glorious  peaks  and 
snows,  to  Cadore  on  one  side,  and  over  the  salt-water  coun- 
try and  marshy  plains  on  the  other  to  Castel  Franco,  two 
humble  families  had  each  received  the  uncertain  blessing 
of  a  boy,  who  took  to  none  of  the  established  modes  of 


268  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

living,  and  would  turn  his  thoughts  neither  to  husbandry, 
nor  to  such  genteel  trades  as  became  the  members  of  a 
family  of  peasant  nobility,  but  dreamed  and  drew  with 
whatsoever  material  came  to  their  hands  upon  walls  or 
other  handy  places.  At  another  epoch  it  is  likely  enough 
that  parental  force  would  have  been  employed  to  balk,  for 
a  time  at  least,  these  indications  of  youthful  genius;  but 
no  doubt  some  of  the  Vecelli  family,  the  lawyer  uncle  or 
the  soldier  father,  had  some  time  descended  from  his  hill- 
top to  the  great  city  which  lay  gleaming  upon  the  edge  of 
those  great  plains  of  sea  that  wash  the  feet  of  the  moun- 
tains, and  had  seen  some  wonderful  work  in  church  or 
senate-chamber,  which  made  known  a  new  possibility  to 
him,  and  justified  in  some  sort  the  attempts  of  the  eager 
child.  More  certainly  still  a  villager  from  the  Trevisano, 
carrying  his  rural  merchandise  to  market,  would  be  led  by 
some  gossip  in  the  Erberia  to  see  the  new  Madonna  in  San 
Giobbe,  and  ask  himself  whether  by  any  chance  little 
Giorgio,  always  with  that  bit  of  chalk  in  his  fingers,  might 
come  to  do  such  a  wonder  as  that  if  the  boy  had  justice 
done  him?  They  came  accordingly  with  beating  hearts, 
the  two  little  rustics,  each  from  his  village,  toZuan  Bellini^s 
lottega  in  Rialto  to  learn  their  art.  The  mountain  boy  was 
but  ten  years  old — confided  to  the  care  of  an  uncle  who 
lived  in  Venice;  but  whether  he  went  at  once  into  the  head- 
quarters of  the  art  is  unknown,  and  unlikely,  for  so  young 
a  student  could  scarcely  have  been  far  enough  advanced  to 
profit  by  the  instructions  of  the  greatest  painter  in  Venice. 
It  is  supposed  by  some  that  he  began  his  studies  under 
Zuccato,  the  mosaicist,  or  some  humbler  instructor.  But 
all  this  would  seem  mere  conjecture.  Vasari,  his  contem- 
porary and  friend,  makes  no  mention  of  any  preliuiinary 
studies,  but  places  the  boy  at  once  under  Giovanni  Bellini. 
Of  the  young  Barbarella  f rom  Castel  Franco  the  same  story 
is  told.  He  too  was  brought  to  Venice  by  his  father  and 
placed  under  Bellini's  instruction.  Messrs.  Crowe  and 
Cavalcaselle  have  confused  these  bare  but  simple  records 
with  theories  of  their  own  respecting  the  influence  of 
Giorgione   upon    Titian,    which   is    such,  they   think,   or 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  269 

thought,  as  could  only  have  been  attained  by  an  elder  over 
a  younger  companion,  whereas  all  the  evidence  goes  to 
prove  that  the  two  were  as  nearly  as  possible  the  same  age, 
and  that  they  were  fellow  pupils,  perhaps  fellow  apprentices, 
in  Bellini's  workshop.  We  may,  however,  find  so  much 
reason  for  the  theory  as  this,  that  young  Tiziuno  was  in  his 
youtli  a  steady  and  patient  worker,  following  all  the  rules 
and  discipline  of  his  master,  and  taking  into  his  capacious 
brain  everything  that  could  be  taught  him,  awaiting  the 
moment  when  he  should  turn  these  stores  of  instruction  to 
use  in  his  own  individual  way;  whereas  young  Giorgio  was 
more  masterful  and  impatient,  and  with  a  quicker  eye  and 
insight  (having  so  mucii  less  time  to  do  his  work  in)  seized 
upon  those  points  in  which  his  genius  could  have  full  play. 
Vasari  talks  as  if  this  brilliant  youth  with  all  the  fire  of 
purpose  in  his  eyes  liad  blazed  all  of  a  sudden  upon  the 
workshop  in  which  Bellini's  pupils  labored — Titian  among 
them,  containing  what  new  lights  were  in  him  in  dutiful 
subordination  to  the  spirit  of  the  place — ^^about  the  year 
1507,"  with  a  new  gospel  of  color  and  brightness  scattering 
the  clouds  from  the  firmament.  Ridolfi,  on  the  other 
hand,  describes  him  as  a  pupil  whom  the  master  looked 
upon  with  a  little  jealousy,  **seeing  the  felicity  with  wiiich 
all  things  were  made  clear  by  this  scholar.  And  certainly," 
adds  the  critic  in  his  involved  and  ponderous  phraseology, 
'*it  was  a  wonder  to  see  how  tliis  boy  added  to  the  method 
of  Bellini  (in  whom  all  the  beauties  of  painting  had  seemed 
conjoined)  such  grace  and  tenderness  of  color,  as  if 
Giorgione,  participating  in  that  power  by  whicli  nature 
mixes  human  flesh  with  all  the  qualities  of  the  elements, 
harmonized  with  supreme  sweetness  the  shadow  and  the 
light,  and  threw  a  delicate  flush  of  rose  tints  upon  every 
member  through  which  the  blood  flows." 

Giorgione,  with  his  bolder  impulse  and  that  haste  which 
we  perceive  to  have  been  so  needful  for  his  short  life,  is 
more  apparent  than  his  fellow  student  in  these  early  years. 
When  he  came  out  of  Bellini's  workshop,  his  apprenticeship 
done,  he  roamed  a  little  from  lottega  to  lottega,  painting 
now  a   sacred   picture   for   an    oratory   or  chapel,   now  a 


270  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

marriage  chest  or  cabinet.  ^'  Qiiadri  di  devotione,  ricinti 
da  htto,  e  gabinetti,''  says  Ridolfi — not  ashamed  to  turn 
his  hand  to  anything  there  might  be  to  do.  Going  home 
afterward  to  his  village,  he  was  received — the  same 
authority  informs  us — with  entliusiasm,  as  having  made 
himself  a  great  man  and  a  painter,  and  commissions 
showered  upon  him.  Perhaps  it  was  at  Castel  Franco, 
amid  the  delight  and  praise  of  his  friends,  that  the  young 
painter  first  recognized  fully  his  own  powers.  At  all  events 
when  he  had  exhausted  their  simple  applauses  and  filled 
the  village  church  and  convent  with  his  work,  he  went 
back  to  Venice,  evidently  with  a  soul  above  the  ricmti  da 
letto,  and  launched  himself  upon  the  world.  His  purse  was 
no  doubt  replenished  by  the  work  he  had  done  at  home,  a 
number  of  the  wealthy  neighbors  having  had  themselves 
painted  by  little  Giorgio — an  opportunity  they  must  have 
perceived  that  might  not  soon  recur.  But  it  was  not  only 
for  work  and  fame  that  he  returned  to  Venice.  He  was 
young,  and  life  was  sweet,  sweeter  there  than  anywhere  else 
in  all  the  world,  full  of  everything  that  was  beautiful  and 
bright.  He  took  a  house  in  the  campo  San  Silvestro, 
opposite  the  church  of  that  name,  not  far  from  the  Eialto, 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  joyous  companions  of  his  craft;  and 
"by  his  talent  and  his  pleasant  nature,^'  drawing  round 
him  a  multitude  of  friends,  lived  there  amid  all  the  delights 
of  youth — dilettandosi  suonar  il  liuto — dividing  his  days 
between  the  arts.  No  gayer  life  nor  one  more  full  of 
pleasure  could  be ;  his  very  work  a  delight,  a  continual 
crowd  of  comrades,  admiring,  imitating,  urging  him  on, 
always  round  him,  every  man  with  his  canzone  and  his 
picture,  and  all  ready  to  fling  them  down  at  a  mementos 
notice,  and  rush  forth  to  swell  the  harmonies  on  the  canal, 
or  steal  out  upon  the  lagoon  in  the  retirement  of  the  gon- 
dola, upon  some  more  secret  adventure.  What  hush  there 
would  be  of  all  the  laughing  commentaries  when  a  fine 
patrician  in  his  sweeping  robes  was  seen  approaching  across 
the  campo,  a  possible  patron  :  what  a  rush  to  the  windows 
when,  conscious  perhaps  of  all  the  eyes  upon  her,  but  with- 
out lifting  her  gwPj  sg^ie  lovely  madouna  wrapped  iu  her 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  271 

veil,  with  her  following  of  maidens,  would  come  in  a  glory 
of  silken  robes  and  jewels  out  of  the  church  door!  ''Per 
certo  siio  decoroso  aspetto  si  detto  Giorgione,"  says  Ridolfi, 
but  perhaps  the  word  decoroso  would  be  out  of  place  in  our 
sense  of  it — for  his  delightsome  presence  rather  and  his 
pleasant  ways.  The  Italian  tongue  still  lends  itself  to  such 
caresses,  and  is  capable  of  making  the  dear  George,  the 
delightful  fellow,  the  beloved  of  all  his  companions,  into 
Giorgione  still. 

And  amid  all  this  babble  of  lutes  and  laughter,  and  all 
the  glow  of  color  and  flush  of  youth,  the  other  lad  from  the 
mountains  would  come  and  go,  no  less  gay  perhaps  than  any 
of  them,  but  working  on,  with  that  steady  power  of  his, 
gathering  to  liimself  slowly  but  with  an  unerring  instinct 
tlie  new  principles  which  his  comrade,  all  impetuous  and 
spontaneous,  made  known  in  practice  rather  than  in  teach- 
ing, making  the  blood  flow  and  the  pulses  beat  in  every 
limb  he  drew.  Young  Tiziano  had  plodded  through  the 
Bellini  system  without  making  any  rebellious  outbreak  of 
new  ideas  as  Giorgione  had  done,  taking  the  good  of  his 
master,  so  far  as  that  master  went,  but  with  his  ryes  open 
to  every  suggestion,  and  very  ready  to  see  that  his  comiade 
had  expanded  the  old  rule,  and  done  something  worth 
adopting  and  following  in  this  joyful  splendid  outburst  of 
his.  It  was  in  this  way  no  doubt,  that  the  one  youth 
followed  the  other,  half  by  instinct,  by  mingled  sympathy 
and  rivalry,  by  the  natural  contagion  of  a  development  more 
advanced  than  that  which  had  been  the  starting  point  of 
both— confusing  his  late  critics  after  some  centuries  into 
an  attempt  to  prove  that  the  one  must  have  taught 
the  other,  which  was  not  necessary  in  any  formal  way. 
Titian  had  ninety  years  to  live,  and  nature  worked  in  him 
at  leisure,  while  Giorgione  had  but  a  third  of  that  time,  and 
went  fast,  flinging  about  what  genius  and  power  of  instruc- 
tion there  was  in  him  with  careless  liberality,  not  thinking 
whether  from  any  friendly  comrade  about  him  he  received 
less  than  he  gave.  Perhaps  the  same  unconscious  hurry  of 
life,  perhaps  only  his  more  impetuous  temper  induced  him, 
when  work  flagged  and  commissions  were  slow  of  coming  in, 


272  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

to  turn  his  hand  to  the  front  of  his  own  house  and  paint 
that,  in  default  of  more  profitable  work.  It  was  no  doubt 
the  best  of  advertisements  for  the  young  painter.  On  the 
higher  story  in  which  most  probably  he  lived,  he  covered 
the  walls  with  figures  of  musicians  and  poets  with  their 
lutes,  and  with  groups  of  boys,  the  putti  so  dear  to  Venice, 
as  well  as  altre  fantasie,  and  historic  scenes  of  more  preten- 
sion which  were  the  subject  of  '^  a  learned  eulogy  by  Signer 
Jacopo  Pighetti,  and  a  celebrated  poem  by  Signer  Paolo 
Vendramin/^  says  Eidolfi.  The  literary  tributes  have 
perished,  and  so  have  the  frescoes,  although  the  spectator 
may  still  see  some  faded  traces  of  Gioi'gione's  putti  upon  the 
walls  of  his  house  ;  but  they  answered  what  no  doubt  was 
at  least  one  of  their  purposes  by  attracting  the  attention  of 
the  watchful  city  ever  ready  to  see  what  beautiful  work  was 
being  done.  It  was  at  this  moment  tiiat  the  Fondaco  de' 
Tedeschi,  the  German  factory  so  to  speak,  on  the  edge  of  the 
Grand  Canal,  was  re-building,  a  great  house  wanting  decora- 
tion. The  jealous  authorities  of  the  republic,  for  some 
reason  one  fails  to  see,  had  forbidden  the  use  of  architectural 
ornamentation  in  the  new  building  which,  all  the  same,  was 
their  own  building,  not  the  property  of  the  Germans.  Had 
it  belonged  to  the  foreigner,  there  might  have  been  a  sup- 
posable  cause  in  the  necessity  for  keeping  these  aliens  down, 
and  preventing  any  possible  emulation  with  native  born 
Venetians.  We  can  only  suppose  that  this  was  actually  the 
reason,  and  that,  even  in  the  house  which  Venice  built  for 
them,  these  traders  were  not  to  be  permitted  to  look  as  fine 
or  feel  as  magnificent  as  their  hosts  and  superiors.  But  a 
great  house  with  four  vast  walls,  capable  of  endless  decora- 
tion, and  nothing  done  to  them,  would  probably  have  raised 
a  rebellion  in  the  city,  or  at  least  among  the  swarms  of 
painters  on  the  other  side  of  the  Rialto,  gazing  at  it  with 
hungry  eyes.  So  it  was  conceded  by  the  authorities  that  this 
square  undecorated  house,  a  singularly  uninteresting  block 
of  buildings  to  stand  on  such  a  site,  should  be  painted  at 
least  to  harmonize  it  so  far  with  its  neighbors.  It  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  this  was  the  first  piece  of  work  on  which 
Titian  had  been  engaged.     No  doubt  he  had  already  pro- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  273 

daeed  his  tale  of  Madonnas,  with  a  few  portraits  to  make 
him  known.  But  he  steps  into  sight  for  the  first  time 
publicly  wlien  we  hear  that  the  wall  on  the  land  side,  the 
street  front,  of  the  building  was  allotted  to  him,  while  the 
side  toward  the  canal  was  confided  to  Giorgione.  Perhaps 
the  whole  building  was  put  into  Giorgione's  hands,  and 
part  of  the  work  confided  by  him  to  his  comrade  ;  at  all 
events  they  divided  it  between  them.  Every  visitor  to 
Venice  is  aware  of  the  faint  and  faded  figure  high  up  in  the 
right-hand  corner,  disappearing,  as  all  its  neighboring 
glories  have  disappeared,  wliich  is  the  last  remnant  of 
Giorgione's  work  upon  the  canal  front  of  this  great  gloomy 
house.  Of  Titian's  group  over  the  great  doorway  in  the 
street  there  remains  nothing  at  all  ;  the  sea  breezes  and  the 
keen  air  have  carried  all  these  beautiful  things  away. 

In  respect  to  these  frescoes,  Vasari  tells  one  anecdote, 
wliich  is  natural  and  characteristic,  and  may  indicate  the 
point  at  which  these  two  young  men  detached  themselves, 
and  took  each  his  separate  way.  He  narrates  liow  ^'  many 
gentlemen,"  not  being  aware  of  the  division  of  labor,  met 
Giorgione  on  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  Titian  had 
uncovered  a  portion  of  his  work,  and  crowded  round  him 
with  their  congratulations,  assuring  him  that  he  had  never 
done  anything  so  fine,  and  that  the  front  toward  the  Mer- 
ceria  quite  excelled  the  river  front!  Giorgione  was  so 
indignant,  sentiva  tanto  sdegno,  at  this  unlucky  compli- 
ment, that  until  Titian  liad  finished  the  work  and  it  had 
become  well  known  which  portion  of  it  was  his,  the  sensi- 
tive painter  showed  himself  no  more  in  public,  and  from 
that  moment  would  neither  see  Titian  nor  acknowledge 
him  as  a  friend.  Ridolfi  tells  the  same  story,  with  the  ad- 
dition that  it  was  a  conscious  mistake  made  maliciously  by 
certain  comrades  who  feigned  not  to  know  who  had  painted 
the  great  Judith  over  the  door. 

This  is  not  a  history  of  the  Venetian  painters,  nor  is  i«i 
necessary  to  follow  the  life  and  labors  of  these  two  brilliant 
and  splendid  successors  of  the  first  masters  in  our  city. 
Whether  it  was  by  the  distinct  initiative  of  Giorgione  in 
painting  his  own  house  that  the  habit  of  painting  Venetian 


274  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

houses  iu  general  originated,  or  whether  it  was  only  one  of 
the  ever  increasing  marks  of  luxury  and  display,  we  do  not 
pretend  to  decide.  At  all  events  it  was  an  expedient  of 
this  generation  to  add  to  the  glory  of  the  city,  and  the 
splendid  aspect  which  she  bore.  The  nobler  dignity  of  the 
ancient  architecture  had  already  been  partially  lost,  or  no 
longer  pleased  in  its  gravity  and  stateliness  the  race  which 
loved  color  and  splendor  in  all  things.  A  whole  city 
glowing  in  crimson  and  gold,  with  giant  forms  starting  up 
along  every  wall,  and  sweet  groups  of  cherub  boys  tracing 
every  course  of  stone,  and  the  fables  of  Greece  and  Eome 
taking  form  upon  every  fa9ade,  must  have  been  no  doubt 
a  wonderful  sight.  The  reflections  in  the  Grand  Canal  as 
it  flowed  between  these  pictured  palaces  must  have  left  lit- 
tle room  for  sky  or  atmosphere  in  the  midst  of  that  dazzling 
confusion  of  brilliant  tints  and  images.  And  every  campo 
must  have  lent  its  blaze  of  color,  to  put  the  sun  himself  to 
shame.  But  we  wonder  whether  it  is  to  be  much  regretted 
that  the  sun  and  the  winds  have  triumphed  in  the  end,  and 
had  their  will  of  those  fine  Venetian  houses.  Among  so 
many  losses  this  is  the  one  for  which  I  feel  the  least 
regret. 

It  is  recorded  among  the  expenses  of  the  republic  in 
December,  1508,  that  one  hundred  and  fifty  ducats  were 
paid  to  Zorzi  da  Castel  Franco  for  his  work  upon  the  Fon- 
daco,  in  which,  according  to  this  business-like  record, 
Victor  Carpaccio  had  also  some  share:  but  this  is  the  only 
indication  of  the  fact,  and  the  total  disappearance  of  the 
work  makes  all  other  inquiry  impossible. 

By  this  time,  however,  Giorgione's  brief  and  gay  life  was 
approaching  its  end.  That  stormy,  joyous  existence,  so 
full  of  work,  so  full  of  pleasure,  as  warm  in  color  as  were 
his  pictures,  and  pushed  to  a  hasty  perfection  all  at  once 
without  the  modesty  of  any  slow  beginning,  ended  sud- 
denly as  it  had  begun.  Vasari  has  unkindly  attributed  his 
early  death  to  the  disorders  of  his  life;  but  his  other  biog- 
raphers are  more  sympathetic.  Eidolfi  gives  two  different 
accounts,  both  popularly  current:  one  that  he  caught  the 
plague  from  a  lady  he  loved:  the  other,  that  being  deserted 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  275 

by  his  love  he  died  of  grief,  non  trovando  altro  remedio.  lu 
either  case  the  impetuous  young  painter,  amid  his  early 
successes — more  celebrated  than  any  of  his  compeers,  the 
leader  among  his  comrades,  the  only  one  of  them  who  had 
struck  into  an  individual  path,  developing  the  lessons  of 
Bellini — died  in  the  midst  of  his  loves  and  pleasures  at  the 
age  of  thirty-four,  not  having  yet  reached  the  mezzo  del 
cammin  di  nostra  vita,  which  Dante  had  attained  when  his 
great  work  began. 

This  was  in  the  year  1511,  only  three  years  after  the 
completion  of  his  work  at  the  Fondaco,  and  while  old  Zuan 
Bellini  was  still  alive  and  at  work,  in  his  robust  old  age, 
seeing  his  impetuous  pupil  out.  It  was  one  of  the  many 
years  in  which  the  plague  visited  Venice,  carrying  conster- 
nation through  the  gay  and  glowing  streets.  It  is  said 
that  Giorgione  was  working  in  the  hall  of  tlie  Great  Coun- 
cil, among  the  other  painters,  at  the  picture  in  which  the 
emperor  is  represented  as  kissing  the  pope's  foot,  at  the 
time  of  his  death.  At  all  events  he  had  lived  long  enough 
to  make  his  fame  great  in  tlie  city,  and  to  leave  examples  of 
his  splendid  work  in  many  of  the  other  great  cities  of  Italy, 
as  well  as  in  his  own  little  borgo  at  Castel  Franco, 
where  still  they  are  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  little 
town. 

It  would  almost  seem  as  if  it  were  only  after  the  death 
of  Giorgione  that  Titian  began  to  be  estimated  at  his  just 
value.  The  one  had  given  the  impulse,  the  other  had 
received  it,  and  Vasari  does  not  hesitate  to  call  Titian  the 
pupil  of  his  contemporary,  though  not  in  the  formal  sense 
attached  to  the  word  by  modern  writers,  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  they  were  of  the  same  age.  Ridolfi's  formal 
yet  warm  enthusiasm  for  the  painter  *'to  whom  belongs 
perpetual  praise  and  honor,  since  he  has  become  a  light  to 
all  those  who  come  after  him,"  assigns  to  Giorgione  a 
higher  place  than  that  which  the  spectator  of  to-day  will 
probably  think  justified.  His  master,  Bellini,  appeals  more 
warmly  to  the  heart;  his  pupil,  Titian,  filled  a  much  greater 
place  in  the  world  and  in  art.  But,  *Mt  is  certain, ''  says 
the  historif^u  and  critic  of  the  sixteenth  century,  with  a 


276  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

double  affirmation,  "  that  Giorgio  was  without  doubt  the 
first  who  showed  the  good  way  in  painting,  fitting  liimself 
(approssimandosi)  by  the  mixture  of  his  colors  to  express 
with  facility  tiie  works  of  nature,  concealing  as  much  as 
possible  the  difficulties  to  be  encountered  in  working,  which 
is  the  chief  point;  so  that  in  the  flesh  tints  of  this  ingeni- 
ous painter  the  innumerable  shades  of  gray,  orange,  blue, 
and  other  such  colors  customarily  used  by  some,  aie  ab- 
sent      The  artificers  who  followed    him,  with   the 

example  before  them  of  his  works,  acquired  the  facility  and 
true  method  of  color  by  which  so  much  progress  was 
made." 

The  works  of  Giorgione  however  are  comparatively  few ; 
his  short  life  and  perhaps  the  mirth  of  it,  the  sounding  of 
the  lute,  the  joyous  company,  and  all  the  delights  of  that 
highly  colored  existence  restrained  the  splendid  productive- 
ness which  was  characteristic  of  his  art  and  age.  And  yet 
perhaps  this  suggestion  does  the  painter  injustice  ;  for  amid 
all  those  diversions,  and  the  ceaseless  round  of  loves  and 
festivities,  the  list  of  work  done  is  always  astonishing. 
Many  of  his  works  however  were  frescoes,  and  the  period 
in  which  he  and  Titian  were,  as  Mr.  Ruskin  says,  house 
painters,  was  the  height  of  his  genius.  The  sea  air  and 
the  keen  tramontana  have  thus  swept  away  much  that  was 
the  glory  of  the  young  painter^s  life. 

The  moment  at  which  Titian  appears  publicly  on  the 
stage,  so  to  speak,  of  the  great  hall,  called  to  aid  in  the 
work  going  on  there,  was  not  till  two  years  after  the  death 
of  his  companion.  Whether  Giorgione  kept  his  hasty  word, 
and  saw  no  more  of  him  after  that  unfortunate  compliment 
about  the  Judith  over  the  doorway  of  the  Fondaco,  we  are 
not  told  ;  but  it  was  not  until  after  the  shadow  of  that  im- 
petuous youthful  genius  had  been  removed,  that  the  other, 
the  patient  and  thoughtful,  who  had  not  reached  perfection 
in  a  burst,  but  by  much  consideration  and  comparison  and 
exercise  of  the  splendid  faculty  of  work  that  was  in  him, 
came  fully  into  the  light.  Messrs.  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle 
make  much  of  certain  disputes  and  intrigues  that  seem  to 
have  surrounded  this  appointment,  and  point  out  that  it 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  277 

was  giveu  and  withdrawn,  and  again  conferred  upon  Titian, 
according  as  his  friends  or  those  of  the  older  painters  were 
in  the  ascendant  in  the  often-changed  combinations  of 
power  in  Venice.  Their  attempt  to  show  that  old  Zuan 
Bellini,  the  patriarch  of  the  art,  schemed  against  his 
younger  rival,  and  endeavored  to  keep  him  out  of  state 
patronage  are  happily  supported  by  no  documents,  but  are 
merely  an  inference  from  the  course  of  events,  which  show 
certain  waverings  and  uncertainties  in  the  bargain  between 
the  signoria  and  the  painter.  The  manner  in  which  this 
bargain  was  made,  and  in  which  the  money  was  provided 
to  pay  for  the  work  of  Titian  and  his  associates,  is  very 
characteristic  and  noticeable.  After  much  uncertainty  as 
to  what  were  the  intentions  of  the  signoria,  the  painter 
received  an  invitation  to  go  to  Rome  through  Pietro 
Bembo,  wiiich,  however  hond  fide  in  itself,  was  probably 
intended  to  bring  matters  to  a  crisis,  and  show  the  author- 
ities, who  had  not  as  yet  secured  the  services  of  the  most 
promising  of  all  the  younger  artists  then  left  in  Venice, 
that  their  decision  must  be  made  at  once.  Titian  brings 
the  question  before  them  witli  much  firmness — will  they 
have  him  or  not  ?  must  he  turn  aside  to  the  service  of  the 
pope  instead  of  entering  that  of  the  magnificent  signoria, 
which,  "desirous  of  fame  rather  than  of  profit,''  he  would 
prefer  ?  Pressing  for  a  decision,  he  then  sets  forth  the  pay 
and  position  for  whicli  he  is  willing  to  devote  his  powers  to 
the  public  service.  These  are:  the  first  brokership  that 
shall  be  vacant  in  tlie  Fondaco  de'  Tedeschi,  **  irrespective 
of  all  promised  reversions  of  such  patent,"  and  the  main- 
tenance of  two  pupils  as  his  assistants,  to  be  paid  by  the 
Salt  Office,  which  also  is  to  provide  all  colors  and  neces- 
saries required  in  their  work.  The  curious  complication 
of  state  affairs  which  thus  mixes  up  the  most  uncongenial 
branches,  and  defrays  the  expenses  of  tliis,  the  supremest 
luxury  of  the  state,  out  of  tlie  tarry  purse  of  its  oldest  and 
rudest  industry,  is  very  remarkable  ;  and  the  bargain  has 
a  certain  surreptitious  air,  as  if  even  the  magnificent  sig- 
noria did  not  care  to  confess  how  much  their  splendors 
cost.     If  our  own   government,  ashamed    to  put  into  their 


^78  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENtGE. 

straight-forward  budget  the  many  thousands  expended  on 
the  purchase  of  the  Blenheim  Madonna,  had  added  it  in 
with  the  accounts  of  the  inland  revenue,  it  would  be  an 
operation  somewhat  similar.  But  such  balancings  and 
mutual  compensations,  robbing  Peter  to  pay  Paul,  were 
common  in  those  days.  The  brokership  however  is  about 
as  curious  an  expedient  for  the  pay  of  a  paiuter  as  could  be 
devised.  The  German  merchants  were  forbidden  to  trade 
without  the  assistance  of  such  an  official,  and  the  painter 
of  course  fulfilled  the  duties  of  the  office  by  deputy.  It 
aifords  an  amazing  suggestion  indeed  to  think  of  old 
Bellini,  or  our  magnificent  young  Titian,  crossing  the 
Rialto  by  the  side  of  some  homely  Teuton  with  his  samples 
in  his  pocket  to  drive  a  noisy  bargain  in  the  crowded  piazza 
round  San  Giacomo  where  all  the  merchants  congregated. 
But  the  expedient  was  perfectly  natural  to  the  times  in 
which  they  lived,  and  indeed  such  resources  have  not  long 
gone  out  of  use  even  among  ourselves. 

Titian's  proposal  was  accepted,  then  modified,  and  finally 
received  and  established,  with  the  odious  addition  that  the 
broker's  place  to  be  given  to  him  was  not  simply  the  first 
vacancy,  but  the  vacancy  which  should  occur  at  the  death 
of  Zuan  Bellini,  then  a  very  old  man,  and  naturally  in- 
capable of  holding  it  long.  This  brutal  method  of  indicating 
that  one  day  was  over,  and  another  begun,  and  of  pushing 
the  old  monarch  from  his  place,  throws  an  unfavorable 
light  upon  the  very  pushing  and  practical  young  painter, 
who  was  thus  determined  to  have  his  master's  seat. 

When  Bellini  died  in  1516,  it  is  gratifying  to  know  that 
there  was  still  some  difficulty  about  the  matter,  other 
promises  apparently  having  been  made,  and  other  expecta- 
tions raised  as  to  the  vacant  brokership.  Finally  however 
Titian's  claim  was  allowed,  and  he  entered  into  possession 
of  the  income  about  which  he  had  been  so  eager.  He  then 
established  himself  at  San  Samuele,  abandoning,  it  would 
seem,  the  old  center  of  life  at  the  Eialto  where  all  the 
others  had  been  content  to  live  and  labor.  It  was  like 
a  migration  from  the  business  parts  of  the  town  to  those  of 
fashion,    or   at   least   gentility  ;  and  perhaps  this  change 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  279 

showed  already  a  beginning  of  pretension  to  the  higlier 
social  position  which  Titian,  in  his  later  days  at  least, 
evidently  enjoyed.  They  were  noble  in  their  rustic  way  up 
at  Cadore,  and  he  who  was  presently  to  stand  before  kings 
probably  assumed  already  something  more  of  dignity  than 
was  natural  to  the  sons  of  painters,  or  to  the  village  genius 
who  is  known  to  posterity  only  by  his  Christian  name, 

Another  day  had  now  dawned  upon  the  studios  and 
workshops.  The  reign  of  the  Bellini  was  over  and  that  of 
Titian  had  begun.  Of  his  contemporaries  and  disciples  we 
cannot  undertake  any  account.  The  nearest  in  association 
and  influence  to  the  new  master  was  tlie  gentle  Palma,  with 
all  the  silvery  sweetness  of  color  which  so  far  as  the  critics 
know  he  had  found  for  himself  in  his  village  on  the  plains, 
or  acquired  somehow  by  the  grace  of  heaven,  no  master 
having  the  credit  of  them.  Some  of  these  authorities 
believe  that,  from  tliis  modest  and  delightful  painter, 
Titian,  all  acquisitive,  gained  something  too,  so  much  as  to 
be  almost  a  pupil  of  the  master  who  is  so  much  less  great 
than  himself.  And  that  is  possible  enough,  for  it  is  evident 
that  Titian,  like  Moliere,  took  his  goods  where  he  found 
them,  and  lost  tio  occasion  for  instruction,  whoever  supplied 
it.  He  was  at  all  events  for  some  time  much  linked 
with  Palma,  whose  daughter  was  long  supposed  to  be  the 
favorite  model  of  both  these  great  painters.  The  splendid 
women  whom  they  loved  to  paint.and  who  now  stepped  in, 
as  may  be  said,  into  the  world  of  fancy,  a  new  and  radiant 
group,  with  the  glorioushairupon  which  both  these  masters 
expended  so  much  skill,  so  that  '*  every  thread  might  be 
counted,"  Vasari  says,  represent,  as  imagination  hopes,  the 
women  of  that  age,  the  flower  of  Venice  at  her  highest 
perfection  of  physical  magnificence.  So  at  least  the  wor- 
shiper of  Venice  believes,  finding  in  those  grand  forms  and 
in  their  opulence  of  color  and  natural  endowment  some- 
thing harmonious  with  the  character  of  the  race  and  time. 
From  the  same  race,  though  with  a  higher  inspiration, 
Bellini  had  drawn  his  Madonnas,  with  stately  throats  like 
column  and  a  noble  amplitude  of  form.  There  is  still  much 
beauty  in  Venice,  but  not  of  this  splendid  kind.  The  women 


280 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


have  dwindled  if  they  were  ever  like  Violante.  But  she 
and  her  compeers  have  taken  their  place  as  the  fit  represen- 
tatives of  that  age  of  splendor  and  luxury.  When  we  turn 
to  records  less  imaginative  however,  the  ladies  of  Venice 
appear  to  us  under  a  different  guise.     They  are  attired  in 


GROUP  OF  heads:   gentile  BELLINI. 


cloth  of  gold,  in  brocaded  silks  and  velvets,  with  cords, 
fringes,  pendents  and  embroidery  in  gold,  silver,  pearls,  and 
precious  stones,  *^even  their  shoes  richly  ornamented  with 
gold,"  Sanudo  tells  us  :  but  they  are  feeble  and  pale,  prob- 
ably because  of  their  way  of  living,  sliut  up  indoors  the 
greater  part  of  their  time,  and  when  they  go  out,  tottering 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  281 

upon  heels  so  high  tliat  walking  is  scarcely  possible,  and 
the  unfortunate  ladies  in  their  grandeur  have  to  lean  upon 
the  shoulders  of  their  servants  (or  slaves)  to  avoid  accident. 
Their  heels  were  at  least  half  the  Milanese  braccio  in 
height  (more  than  nine  inches),  says  another  authority. 
Imagination  refuses  to  conceive  the  wonderful  lady  who 
lives  in  Florence,  the  Bella  of  Titian,  in  all  her  magnificent 
apparel,  thus  hobbling  on  a  species  of  stilts  about  the 
streets,  supported  by  one  of  those  grinning  negroes  whose 
memory  is  preserved  in  the  parti-colored  figures  in  black 
and  colored  marble  which  pleased  the  taste  of  a  later  age. 
Such  however  were  the  shoes  worn  in  those  very  days  of 
Bellini  and  Carpaccio  which  the  great  art  critic  of  our  time 
points  out  as  so  much  nobler  than  our  own,  even  pausing  in 
his  beautiful  talk  to  throw  a  little  malicious  dart  aside  at 
modern  English  (or  Scotch)  maidens  in  high-heeled  boots. 
The  nineteenth  century  has  not  after  all  deterioi'ated  so 
very  much  from  the  fifteenth,  for  the  veriest  Parisian 
abhorred  of  the  arts  has  never  yet  attempted  to  poise  upon 
lieels  huMvi  braccio  in  height. 

These  jeweled  clogs  however,  which  if  memory  does  not 
deceive  us  are  visible  on  the  fioor  in  Carpaccio's  picture 
of  the  two  Venetian  ladies  in  the  Museo  Correr,  so  much 
praised  by  Mr.  Kuskin,  were  part  of  the  universal  orna- 
mentation of  the  times.  The  great  wealth  of  Venice 
showed  itself  in  every  kind  of  decorative  work,  designed 
in  some  cases  rather  by  skill  than  by  common  sense.  Tiie 
Ve?ietian  houses  were  not  only  painted  without,  throwing 
abroad  a  surplus  splendor  to  all  the  searching  of  the  winds, 
but  were  all  glorious  within  as  in  the  psalms.  The  fur- 
niture carved  and  gilded,  the  curtains  made  of  precious 
stuff,  the  chimney-pieces  decorated  with  the  finest  pictures, 
the  beds  magnificent  with  golden  embroidery  and  brocaded 
pillows,  the  very  sheets  edged  with  delicate  work  in  gold 
thread.  AVhen  Giorgione  opened  his  studio,  setting  up  in 
business  so  to  speak,  he  painted  wardrobes,  spinning-wheels 
and  more  particularly  chests,  the  wedding  coffers  of  the 
time,  of  which  so  many  examples  remain  :  and — a  fact 
which  takes  away  the  hearer's  breath — when  Titian  painted 


282  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

that  noble  pallid  Christ  of  the  Tribute  money,  he  did  it, 
oh  heavens,  on  a  cabinet,  a  fact  which,  though  the  cabinet 
was  in  the  study  of  Alfonso  of  Ferrara,  strikes  us  with  a 
sensation  of  horror.  Only  a  prince  could  have  his  furniture 
painted  with  such  a  work;  but  no  doubt  in  Titian's  splendid 
age  there  might  be  many  armari,  armoires — aumries  as 
they  were  once  called  in  Scotland — with  bits  of  his  youth- 
ful work,  and  glowing  panels  painted  by  Giorgione  on  the 
mantelpieces  to  be  found  in  the  Venetian  houses.  This 
was  the  way  of  living  of  the  young  painters,  by  which  they 
came  into  knowledge  of  the  world.  Perhaps  the  doors  of 
the  wardrobe  in  a  friend's  house,  or  the  panels  over  the  fire- 
place, might  catch  the  eye  of  one  of  the  Savii,  now  multi- 
tiplied  past  counting  in  every  office  of  tiie  state,  who  would 
straightway  exert  himself  to  have  a  space  in  the  next 
church  alloted  to  the  y  oung  man  to  try  his  powers  on: 
when  if  there  was  anything  in  him  he  had  space  and  oppor- 
tunity to  show  it,  and  prove  himself  worthy  of  still  higher 
promotion. 

It  would  seem,  however,  that  Titian  was  not  much  ap- 
preciated by  his  natural  patrons  during  all  the  beginning 
of  his  career.  There  is  no  name  of  fondness  for  him  such 
as  there  was  for  Giorgio  of  Castel  Franco.  Was  it  perhaps 
that  these  keen  Venetians,  who,  notwithstanding  that  fail- 
ure of  religious  faith  with  which  they  are  suddenly  dis- 
credited, and  which  is  supposed  to  lie  at  the  root  of  all 
decadence  in  art,  had  still  a  keen  eye  and  insight  for  the 
true  and  real,  perceived  that  in  the  kind  of  pictures  they 
most  desired  something  was  wanting  which  had  not  been 
wanting  either  in  the  Madonnas  of  Bellini  or  the  saints  of 
Carpaccio — a  something  higher  than  manipulation,  more 
lovely  than  the  loveliest  color  of  the  new  method?  These 
sacred  pictures  might  be  beautiful,  but  they  were  not 
divine.  The  soul  had  gone  out  of  them.  That  purity 
and  wholesome  grace  which  was  in  every  one  of  old  Zuan's 
Holy  Families  had  stolen  miraculously  out  of  Titian,  just 
as  it  had  stolen  miraculously  in,  no  one  knowing  how,  to 
the  works  of  the  elder  generation.  If  this  was  the  case 
indeed    it  was   an  effect   only  partially  produced  by  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  283 

works  of  the  young  master,  for  his  portraits  were  all  alight 
with  life  and  meaning,  and  in  other  subjects  from  his  hand 
there  was  no  lack  of  truth  and  energy.  Whatever  the 
cause  might  be,  it  is  clear  however  that  he  was  not  popu- 
lar, though  the  acknowledged  greatest  of  all  the  younger 
painters.  It  was  only  the  possibility  of  seeing  his  services 
transferred  to  the  pope  that  procured  his  admission  to  the 
privileges  of  state  employment  ;  and  it  was  after  his  fame 
had  been  echoed  from  Ferrara  and  Bologna  and  Rome,  and 
by  the  great  emperor  himself — the  magnificent  patron 
who  picked  up  his  brush,  and  with  sublime  condescension 
declared  tliat  a  Titian  might  well  be  served  by  Caesar — 
that  the  more  critical  and  fastidious  Venetians,  or  perhaps 
it  might  only  be  the  more  prejudiced  and  hardly-judging, 
gave  way  to  the  strong  current  of  opinion  in  his  favor,  and 
began  to  find  him  a  credit  to  Venice.  As  soon  as  this  con- 
viction became  general  the  tide  of  public  feeling  changed, 
and  the  republic  became  proud  of  the  man  who,  amid  all 
the  disasters  that  began  to  disturb  her  complacence  and 
interrupt  her  prosperity,  had  done  her  credit  and  added  to 
her  fame. 

It  is  evident,  however,  that  even  when  he  final'y  got  his 
chance,  and  painted,  for  the  church  of  tlie  Frari,  the  mag- 
nificent Assumption  which  occupies  now  a  kind  of  throne 
in  the  Accademia  as  if  in  some  sort  the  sovereign  of  Venice 
doubts  pursued  him  to  the  end  of  his  work.  Fra  Marco 
Jerman  or  Germano,  the- head  of  the  convent,  who  had 
ordereil  it  at  his  own  expense  and  fitted  it  when  completed 
into  a  fine  framework  of  marble  for  the  high  altar,  had 
many  a  criticism  to  make  during  the  frequent  anxious  visits 
he  paid  to  the  painter  at  his  work.  Titian  was  troubled 
indeed  by  all  the  ignorai'.t  brethren  coming  and  going, 
molestato  dalle  frequenti  visiteloro,  and  by  il  poco  lorointen- 
dimento,  their  small  understanding  of  the  necessities  of  art. 
They  were  all  of  the  opinion  that  the  Apostles  in  the  fore- 
ground were  too  large,  di  troppo  smisurata  grandezza,  and 
though  ho  took  no  small  trouble  to  persuade  them  that  the 
figures  must  be  in  proportion  to  the  vastness  of  the  space, 
and  the  position   which   the   picture    was   to  occupy,  yet 


284-  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

nevertheless  the  monks  continued  to  grumble  and  shake 
their  heads,  and  make  their  observations  to  each  other 
under  their  hoods,  doubting  even  whether  the  picture  was 
good  enough  to  be  accepted  at  all,  after  all  the  fuss  that 
had  been  made  about  it,  and  the  painter-fellow's  occupation 
of  their  church  itself  as  his  painting  room.  The  ignorant 
are  often  the  most  difficult  to  please.  But  the  condition 
of  the  doubting  convent,  with  no  confidence  in  its  own 
judgment,  and  a  haunting  terror  lest  Venice  should  sneer 
or  jeer  when  tiie  picture  was  uncovered,  is  comprehensible 
enough.  Titian,  it  is  evident,  had  not  even  now  attained 
such  an  assured  position  as  would  justify  his  patrons  in 
any  certainty  of  the  excellence  of  his  work.  He  was  still 
on  his  promotion,  with  no  settled  conviction  in  the  minds 
of  the  townsfolk  as  to  his  genius  and  power.  No  doubt 
the  brethren  all  thought  that  their  guardiano  had  done  a 
rash  thing  in  engaging  him,  and  Fra  Marco  himself  trem- 
bled at  the  thought  of  the  mistake  he  might  perhaps  have 
made.  It  was  not  until  the  emperoi's  envoy,  already,  it  is 
evident,  a  strong  partisan  of  Titian,  and  bringing  to  his 
work  an  eye  unclouded  by  local  prepossessions,  declared 
that  the  picture  was  a  marvelous  picture,  and  offered 
a  large  sum  if  they  would  give  it  up,  in  order  that  he 
might  send  it  to  his  master,  that  the  f rati  began  to  think 
it  might  be  better  perhaps  to  hold  by  tlieir  bargain. 
''Upon  which  offer,"  says  Eldolfi,  "the  fathers  in  their 
chapter  decided,  after  the  opinion  of  the  most  prudent, 
not  to  give  up  the  picture  to  any  one,  recognizing  finally 
that  art  was  not  their  profession,  and  that  the  use 
of  the  breviary  did  not  convey  an  understanding  of 
painting." 

It  is  curious  to  find  that  Vasari  makes  no  particular  note 
of  this  picture  except  to  say  that  it  cannot  be  well  seen 
(that  is  in  its  original  position  in  the  Frari),  and  that 
Marco  Sanudo,  in  recording  its  first  exhibition,  mentions 
the  frame  as  if  it  was  a  thing  quite  as  important  as  the 
picture.  Such  is  the  vagueness  of  contemporary  opinion. 
It  seems  at  all  events  to  have  been  the  first  picture  of 
Titian's  which  at  all  struck  the  imagination  of  his  time. 


IHE  MAKERS  OP  VENICE.  285 

By  tliis  time,  however,  he  had  begun  to  be  courted  by 
foreign  potentates,  and  it  is  evident  that  his  hands  were 
very  full  of  commissions,  and  that  some  shiftiness  and  many 
of  the  expedients  of  the  dilatory  and  unpunctual  were  in 
his  manner  of  dealing  with  his  patrons,  to  whom  he  was 
very  humble  in  his  letters,  but  not  very  faithful  in  his 
promises.  And  now  that  he  has  reached  the  full  maturity 
of  power,  Titian  unfolds  to  us  a  view,  not  so  much  of 
Venice,  as  of  a  corrupt  and  luxurious  society  in  Venice, 
which  is  of  a  very  different  character  from  the  simplicities 
of  his  predecessors  in  art.  Even  young  Giorgione's  gay 
dissipations,  his  love  of  lute  and  song,  his  pretensions  to 
gallantry  and  finery,  mischiante  sempre  amove  with  all  his 
doings,  have  a  boyish  and  joyous  sweetness,  in  comparison 
with  the  much  more  luxurious  life  in  which  we  now  find 
his  old  companion,  the  vile  society  of  the  Aretino  who  flat- 
tered and  intrigued  for  him,  and  led  Titian,  too,  not  un- 
willing, to  intrigue  and  flatter  and  sometimes  betray. 
Perhaps  at  no  time  had  there  been  much  virtue  and  purity 
to  boast  of  in  the  career  of  the  painter  who  had  half  forced 
the  signoria  into  giving  him  his  appointment,  and  seized 
upon  old  Zuan  Bellini's  office  before  he  was  dead  ;  then 
dallied  with  the  work  he  seemed  so  eager  to  undertake, 
and  left  it  hanging  on  hand  for  years.  But  the  arrival  of 
Pietro  Aretino  in  Venice  seems  to  have  been  the  signal  for 
the  establishment  there  of  a  society  such  as  the  much- 
boasted  Renaissance  of  classical  learning  and  art  seems 
everywhere  to  have  brought  with  it,  shaming  the  ancient 
gods  which  were  thus  proved  so  little  capable  of  re-inspir- 
ing mankind.  There  is  no  one  in  all  the  sphere  of  history 
and  criticism  who  has  a  good  word  to  say  of  Aretino.  He 
was  the  very  type  of  the  base-born  adventurer,  the  hanger- 
on  of  courts,  the  entirely  corrupt  and  dazzlingly  clever 
parasite,  whose  wit  and  cunning  and  impudence  and  un- 
scrupulousnese,  his  touch  of  genius  and  cynical  indifference 
to  every  law  and  moral  restraint,  gave  him  a 
power  which  it  is  very  difficult  to  understand,  but  impossi- 
ble to  deny.  That  such  a  man  should  be  able  to 
recommend  the  greatest  painter  of  the  day  to  the  greatest 


286  THE  MAKEliS  OF  VENICE. 

potentate,  Titian  to  Charles  V.,  is  amazing  beyond 
description,  but  it  would  seem  to  have  been  directly  or 
indirectly  the  case.  Aretino  had  an  immense  correspond- 
ence with  all  the  cultured  persons  of  his  time,  and  in  the  let- 
ters which  were  a  sort  of  trade  to  him,  and  by  which  he  kept 
himself  and  his  gifts  and  pretensions  before  the  great  people 
who  ministered  to  his  wants,  he  had  it  in  his  power  to 
spread  the  fame  of  a  friend,  and  let  the  dukes  and  princes 
know — the  young  men  who  were  proud  of  a  correspondent 
so  clever  and  wise  and  learned  in  all  depravity  as  well  as 
all  the  sciences  of  the  beautiful ;  and  the  old  men  who  liked 
his  gossip  and  his  pungent  comments,  and  thought  they 
could  keep  a  hold  upon  the  world  by  snch  means — that 
here  was  another  accomplished  vassal  ready  to  serve  their 
pleasure.  How  such  a  mixture  of  the  greatest  and  the 
basest  is  practicable,  and  how  it  has  so  often  happened  that 
the  lovers  of  every  beautiful  art  should  be  in  themselves  so 
unbeautiful,  so  low  in  all  the  true  loveliness  of  humanity, 
while  so  sensitive  to  its  external  refinements,  is  a 
question  of  far  too  much  gravity  and  intricacy  to  be 
discussed  here.  Titian  found  a  better  market  for  his 
Venuses  andAriadnes  among  the  Hellenized  elegants  of  the 
time,  at  the  courts  of  those  splendid  princes  who  were  at  the 
summit  of  fashion  and  taste,  and  a  far  more  appreciative 
audience  (so  to  speak)  than  he  ever  found  at  home  for  the 
religious  pictures  which  his  countrymen  felt  to  be  without 
any  soul,  beautiful  though  their  workmanship  might  be. 

In  another  region  of  art,  however,  he  was  now  without  a 
rival.  The  splendid  power  of  portraiture,  in  which  no 
painter  of  any  age  has  ever  surpassed  him,  conducted  him 
to  other  triumphs.  It  was  this  which  procured  him  the 
patronage  of  Charles  V.,  who  not  only  sat  to  him  repeatedly, 
but  declared  him  to  be  the  only  painter  he  would  care  to 
honor,  and  called  him  an  Apelles,  and  all  the  other  fine 
things  of  that  classical  jargon  which  was  so  conventional 
and  so  meaningless.  Certainly  nothing  can  be  more  mag- 
nificent than  the  portraits  with  which  Titian  has  helped  to 
make  the  history  of  his  age.  The  splendor  of  color  in 
them  is  not  more  remarkable  than  that  force  of  reality  and 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  287 

meaning  which  is  so  wanting  in  his  smooth  Madonnas,  so 
unnecessary  to  his  luxurious  goddesses.  The  men  whom 
Titian  paints  are  almost  all  worthy  to  be  senators  or 
emperors:  no  trifling  coxcomb,  no  foolish  gallant,  ever 
looks  out  upon  us  from  his  canvas,  but  a  series  of  noble 
personages  worthy  tlieir  rank  and  importance  in  tiie  world. 
It  is  difficult  to  overrate  the  power  which  has  this  fine 
effect.  Even  in  the  much  discussed  decorative  tableau  of 
the  Presentation,  with  its  odious  old  woman  and  her  eggs, 
which  are  tanto  naturale  according  to  the  vulgar,  the  group 
of  gentlemen  at  the  fool  of  the  stair  are  noble  every  one, 
requiring  no  pedigree.  It  was  only  just  that  in  recompense 
of  such  a  power  tlie  great  emperor  should  have  ennobled 
Titian  and  made  him  Cavalier  and  Count  Palatine  and 
every  other  splendid  thing.  Such  rewards  were  more  ap- 
propriate in  his  case  than  they  would  have  been  in  almost 
any  other.  It  was  in  his  power  to  confer  the  splendor  they 
loved  upon  the  subjects  of  his  pencil,  and  hand  them  down 
to  posterity  as  if  they  all  were  heroes  and  philosophers. 
The  least  the  emperor  could  do  was  to  endow  the  painter 
with  some  share  of  that  magnificence  which  he  bestowed. 

And  when  we  look  back  upon  him  where  he  still  reigns 
in  Venice,  it  is  not  with  any  thought  of  his  matronly 
Madonna  among  her  cherubs,  notwithstanding  all  the  im- 
portance which  has  been  locally  given  to  that  imposing 
composition,  any  more  than,  when  we  turn  to  the  magnifi- 
cent picture  painted  for  the  same  church,  tlie  altar  piece 
of  the  Pesaro  chapel,  known  as  the  Madonna  of  the  Pesaro 
family,  it  is  the  sacred  personages  who  attract  our  regard. 
In  vain  is  the  sacred  group  throned  on  high:  the  Virgin 
with  her  child  is  without  significance,  no  true  queen  of 
heaven,  with  no  mission  of  blessing  to  the  world  ;  but  the 
group  of  Venetian  nobles  beneath,  kneeling  in  proud 
humility,  their  thoughts  fixed  on  the  grandeur  of  their 
house  and  the  accomplishment  of  their  aims,  like  true  sons 
of  the  masterful  republic — not  negligent  of  the  help  that 
our  Lady  and  the  saints  may  bestow  if  properly  propitiated, 
and  snatching  a  moment  accordingly  to  lay  their  ambitions 
and  keen  worldly  desires  distinctly  before  her  and  her  court 


288  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

-^live  forever,  genuine  representatives  of  one  of  the  most 
powerful  civilizations  of  the  mid-ages,  true  men  of  their 
time.  And  with  a  surprise  of  art,  a  sudden  human  gleam 
of  interest,  an  appeal  to  our  kindred  and  sympathy  which 
it  is  imposssible  to  withstand,  there  looks  out  at  us  from 
the  canvas  a  young  face  careless  of  all,  both  the  Madonna 
and  the  family,  a  little  weary  of  that  senseless  kneeling,  a 
little  wondering  at  the  motive  of  it,  seeking  in  the  eyes  of 
the  spectator  some  response  more  human,  full  of  the  ab- 
straction of  youth,  to  which  the  world  is  not  yet  open,  but 
full  of  dreams.  If  our  practical,  money-making,  pleasure- 
loving  painter  had  found  in  his  busy  life  any  time  for 
symbols,  we  might  take  this  beautiful  face  as  a  representa- 
tion of  that  new  undeveloped  life  seen  only  to  be  different 
from  the  old,  which,  with  a  half  weariness  and  half  disdain 
of  the  antiquated  practices  of  its  predecessors,  kneels  there 
along  with  them  in  physical  subordination  but  mental 
superiority,  not  sufficiently  awakened  to  strain  against  the 
curb  as  yet,  with  opposition  only  nascent,  an  instinctive 
separation  and  abstraction  rather  than  rebellion  of  thought. 
But  Titian,  we  may  be  sure,  thought  of  none  of  these 
things.  He  must  have  caught  the  look,  half  protest,  half 
appeal,  that  the  tired  youth  (at  the  same  time  partially 
overawed  by  his  position)  turned  toward  him  as  he  knelt: 
and  with  the  supreme  perception  of  a  great  artist  of  mean- 
ings more  than  he  takes  the  trouble  to  fathom,  save  for 
their  effect,  have  secured  the  look,  for  our  admiration  and 
sympathy  evermore. 

In  the  full  maturity  of  his  age  and  fame,  Titian  removed 
from  his  dwelling  at  San  Samuele,  where  he  had  lived  amid 
his  workshops  midway  between  the  two  centers  of  Venetian 
life,  the  Rialto  and  the  Piazza,  to  a  luxurious  and  delight- 
house  in  San  Cassiano,  on  that  side  of  Venice  which  faces 
Murano  and  the  wide  lagoon  with  all  its  islands.  There  is 
no  trace  to  be  found  now  of  that  home  of  delights.  The 
water  has  receded,  the  banks  have  crept  outward,  and  the 
houses  of  the  poor  now  cover  the  garden  where  the  finest 
company  in  Venice  once  looked  out  upon  one  of  the  most 
marvelous  scenes  in   the   world.     The  traveler  may  skirt 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  289 

the  bank  and  linger  along  the  lagoon  many  a  day  without 
seeing  the  sea  fog  lift,  and  the  glorious  line  of  the  Dolomite 
Alps  come  out  against  the  sky.  But  wlien  that  revelation 
occurs  to  him  he  will  understand  the  splendor  of  the  scene, 
and  why  it  was  that  the  painter  chose  that  house,  looking 
out  across  the  garden  and  its  bouquets  upon  the  marvelous 
line  of  mountains  coming  sheer  down  as  appears  to  the 
water's  edge,  soaring  clear  upward  in  wild  yet  harmonious 
variety  of  sharp  needles  and  rugged  peaks,  here  white  with 
snow,  there  rising  in  the  somber  grandeur  of  the  living 
rock,  glistening  afar  with  reflections,  the  lines  of  torrents, 
and  every  tint  that  atmosphere  and  distance  give.  When 
the  atmosphere,  so  often  heavy  with  moisture  and  banked 
with  low-lying  cloud,  clears,  and  the  sun  brings  out 
triumphantly  like  a  new  discovery  that  range  of  miraculous 
hills,  and  the  lurid  line  of  the  Ingoon  stretches  out  and 
brims  over  upon  the  silvery  horizon,  and  the  towers  of 
Torcello  and  Burano  in  the  distance,  with  other  smaller 
isles  stand  up  out  of  the  water,  miraculous  too,  with  no 
apparent  footing  of  land  upon  which  to  poise  themselves, 
the  scene  is  still  beautiful  beyond  description,  notwith- 
standing the  frightful  straight  lines  of  red  and  white  wall 
which  enclose  San  Michele,  the  burial  place  of  Venice,  and 
the  smoke  and  high  chimneys  of  the  Murano  glass  works. 
The  walls  of  San  Michele  did  not  exist  in  Titian^s  day:  but 
I  wonder  whether  Mr.  Ruskin  thinks  there  was  no  smoke 
over  Murano  even  in  the  ages  of  primal  simplicity  and 
youth. 

There  is  nothing  now  but  a  crowd  of  somewhat  dilapi- 
[)ated  houses  in  these  inferior  parts  of  the  city,  sadly  mean 
and  common  on  close  inspection,  amid  the  bewildering 
maze  of  small  streets  through  which  the  traveler  is  hurried 
now  to  see  what  is  left  (which  is  nothing)  of  the  house  of 
Titian:  and  very  squalid  along  the  quays  of  the  Fonda- 
menta  Nuova,  with  obvious  signs  everywhere  that  this  is 
the  bacit  of  the  town,  and  freed  from  all  necessity  for 
keeping  up  appearances.  In  Titian's  day  it  was  a  retired 
suburban  quarter,  with  green  fields  edging  the  level  shore, 
and  stretching  on  each  side  of  that  garden  in  which  grew 


290  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  trees,  and  over  which  shone  the  sky  which  formed  the 
back-ground  of  the  great  Peter  Martyr,  the  picture  which 
was  burned  in  1867,  and  which  everybody  is  free  to  believe 
was  Titian's  chef  cVceuvre.  Here  the  painter  gathered  his 
friends  about  him,  and  supped  gayly  in  the  lovely  even- 
ings, while  the  sun  from  behind  them  shot  his  low  rays 
along  the  lagoon,  and  caught  a  few  campaniles  here  and 
there  gleaming  white  in  the  dim  line  of  scarcely  visible 
country  at  the  foot  of  the  hills.     If  the  sun  were  still  too 


GROUP  OF  heads:  gentile  betj.tni. 

high  when  the  visitors  arrived  there  was  plenty  to  see  in 
the  house,  looking  over  the  pictures  with  which  it  was 
crowded,  the  wonderful  glowing  heads  of  dukes  and  em- 
perors, great  Charles  in  all  his  splendor,  or,  more  splendid 
still,  the  nymphs  and  goddesses  without  any  aid  of  orna- 
ment, which  were  destined  for  all  the  galleries  in  Europe. 
A  famous  grammarian  from  Rome,  Priscian  by  name,  in 
the  month  of  August,  1540,  describes  such  a  party,  the 
convives  being  Aretino  (^'  a  new  miracle  of  nature"),  San- 
sovino  the  architect  of  San  Marco,  Nardi  the  Florentine 
historian,  and  himself.     ^'  The  house,''  he  says: 

'*  Is  situated   in  the  extreme  part  Venice  on  the  sea,  and  from  it 
one  sees  the  pretty  little  island  of  Murano  and  other  beautiful  places. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  291 

This  part  of  the  sea,  as  soon  as  the  sun  went  down,  swarmed  with 
gondolas,  adorned  with  beautiful  women,  and  resounding  with  the 
varied  harmony  and  music  of  voices  and  instruments  wbich  till  mid- 
night accompanied  our  delightful  supper,  which  was  no  less  beauti- 
ful and  well  arranged  than  copious  and  well  provided.  Besides  the 
most  delicate  viands  and  precious  wines  there  were  all  those  pleasures 
and  amusements  that  were  suited  to  the  season,  the  guests  and  the 
feast." 

While  they  were  at  their  fruit,  letters  arrived  from  Rome, 
and  there  suddenly  rose  a  discussion  upon  the  superiority 
of  Latin  to  Italian,  very  exciting  to  the  men  of  let'ters — 
though  the  painters  no  doubt  took  it  more  quietly,  or 
looked  aside  through  the  trees  to  where  the  wonderful  sil- 
very gleaming  of  the  sea  and  sky  kept  light  and  life  in  the 
evening  landscape,  or  a  snowy  peak  revealed  itself  like  a 
white  cloud  upon  the  gray:  while  the  magical  atmosphere, 
sweet  and  cool  with  the  breath  of  night  after  the  fervid  day, 
a  world  of  delicious  space  about  them,  thrilled  with  the  soft 
rush  of  the  divided  water  after  every  gondola,  the  tinkle  of 
the  oar,  the  subdued  sounds  of  voices  from  the  lagoon,  and 
the  touching  of  the  lute.  Round  the  table  in  the  garden 
the  sounds  of  the  discussion  were  perhaps  less  sweet:  but  no 
doubt  the  Venetian  promenaders,  taking  their  evening  row 
along  the  edge  of  the  lagoon,  kept  as  close  to  the  shore  as 
courtesy  permitted,  heard  tiie  murmur  of  the  talk  with 
admiration,  and  pointed  out  where  Messer  Tiziano  the 
great  painter  feasted ^and  entertained  his  noble  guests  in  the 
shade. 

For  doubtless  Titian,  knight.  Count  Palatine,  with 
jeweled  collar  and  spurs  at  heel,  was  by  this  time  a  person- 
age who  drew  every  eye,  notwithstanding  that  the  signoria 
were  but  little  pleased  with  him,  and  after  a  hundred  fruit- 
less representations  about  that  picture  in  the  great  hall, 
took  the  strong  step  at  last  of  taking  his  brokership  from 
him,  and  calling  upon  him  in  the  midst  of  his  careless  su- 
periority to  refund  the  money  which  he  had  been  drawing 
all  these  years  in  payment  of  work  wliich  he  had  never  ex- 
ecuted. This  powerful  appeal  made  him  set  aside  his  royal 
commissions  for  a  time  and  complete  the  picture  in  the 


292  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE, 

hall,  which  was  tliat  of  a  battle,  very  immaterial  to  any  one 
now,  as  it  perished  with  all  the  rest  in  the  fire.  This,  how- 
ever, was  a  most  effectual  way  of  recalling  the  painter  to 
his  duties,  for  he  never  seems  throughout  his  life  to  have 
had  enough  of  money,  though  that  indeed  is  not  an  unusual 
case.  His  letters  to  his  patrons  are  however,  full  to  an  un- 
dignified extent  with  this  subject.  The  emperor  had 
granted  him  a  certain  income  from  the  revenues  of  Naples, 
which  however  turned  out  a  very  uncertain  income,  and  is 
the  subject  of  endless  remonstrance  and  appeals.  To  the 
very  end  of  his  life  tliere  is  scarcely  one  of  his  letters  in 
which  the  failure  of  tliis,  or  of  a  similar  grant  upon  Milan, 
or  of  some  other  mode  in  which  liis  royal  and  imperial 
patrons  had  paid  for  their  personal  acquisitions  by  orders 
upon  somebody  else's  treasury,  is  not  complained  of.  Titian 
it  would  seem  eventually  got  his  money,  but  not  without  a 
great  deal  of  trouble,  fighting  for  it  strenuously  by  every 
means  that  could  be  thought  of.  And  he  pursued  his 
labors  ceaselessly,  producing  pictures  of  every  kind,  a 
Christ  one  day,  a  Venus  the  next  with  a  serene  impartial- 
ity. Anything  is  to  be  got  from  Titian  for  money,  says  the 
envoy  of  King  Philip  after  the  great  days  of  Charles  are 
over.  He  pleads  for  a  benefice  for  his  son,  who  is  a  priest, 
for  the  enforcement  of  his  claims  upon  state  revenues  be- 
cause of  the  betrothal  of  his  daughter,  and  because  he  is 
growing  old,  and  for  a  number  of  reasons,  always  eager  to 
have  tlie  money  at  any  cost.  ''  He  .is  old  and  therefore 
avaricious,"  says  Philip's  ambassador.  But  to  the  last  he 
could  paint  his  Venuses,  though  coarsely,  and  in  the 
midst  of  all  these  studies  from  the  nude  suddenly  would 
produce  a  Last  Supper,  credited  once  more  among  so  many, 
by  the  busy  coteries  and  critics,  as  likely  to  be  Titian's 
best. 

At  the  same  time  this  great  and  celebrated  painter,  who 
thought  no  harm  to  fleece  the  dukes,  and  to  insist  upon 
their  money,  had,  and  alas!  forgot,  it  seems,  the  honor  and 
glory  of  being  Titian,  and  aimed  at  a  rich  man's  substance 
and  estimation — this  magnificent  Venetian,  with  his  feudal 
powers  and  title,  never  forgot  little  Cadore  among  the  hills. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  293 

toward  which  liis  windows  looked,  and  where  his  kindred 
dwelt.  There  is  a  letter  extant  from  his  cousin,  another 
Titian,  but  so  different,  thanking  him  for  his  good  otiices, 
which  among  all  those  letters  about  money  is  a  refresh- 
ment to  see.  The  Tiziano  of  the  village  regrets  deeply  to 
have  been  absent  when  his  -^^  all  but  brother"  the  great 
Titian,  he  whose  name  was  known  over  all  the  world,  visited 
Cadore,  and  therefore  to  have  been  prevented  from  **  mak- 
ing proper  return  for  all  we  owe  you,  in  respect  of  numer- 
ous proofs  of  friendship  shown  to  our  community  at  large, 
and  in  special  to  our  envoys,  for  all  of  which  you  may  be 
assured  we  have  a  grateful  memory."  He  then  informs  his 
kinsman  that  two  citizens  have  been  appointed  as  ora- 
tors or  spokesmen  of  the  city  to  the  signoria  of  Venice,  and 
implores  for  them  Titian's  *'favor  and  assistance,  which  must 
ensure  success."  **  My  son  Vecello,"  continues  the  writer, 
**  begs  you  to  give  him  your  interest  in  respect  of  the  place 
of  San  Francesco,  and  tins  by  way  of  an  exchange  of  serv- 
ices, as  I  am  ready  at  all  times  to  second  your  wishes  and 
consult  your  convenience:^'  and  finally  requests  to  know 
when  the  money  is  to  be  paid  "  which  you  so  courteously 
lent  to  the  community."  ''  In  conclusion  we  beg  of  you  to 
command  us  all:  and  should  this  exchange  of  services  be 
carried  out  on  both  sides  it  will  be  a  proof  of  the  utmost 
kindness  and  charity,  in  which  it  is  our  wish  that  God 
should  help  you  for  many  years." 

It  would  be  curious  to  imagine  what  the  little  highland 
lorgo  could  do  for  Titian  in  exchange  for  his  kindnesses. 
He  painted  them  a  picture  at  a  later  date  for  which  they 
paid  him  in  a  delightful  way,  granting  him  apiece  of  land 
upon  which  he  built  a  cottage.  This  house  was  pitched  on 
a  marvelous  mount  of  vision  on  the  side  of  one  of  those 
magnificent  hills,  so  that  his  dwelling  above  and  his  home 
below  must  have  exchanged  visions,  so  to  speak,  in  the  vast 
space  of  blue  that  lay  between. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this  glory  and  honor,  there  were 
critics  in  his  own  craft  and  a  prevailing  sentiment  under- 
neath the  admiration  extorted  from  Venice,  which  de- 
tracted a  little  from  the   fame  of  Titian.      The   common 


294  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

people  would  not  love  his  goddesses,  thougli  the  princes 
adored  them.  The  commonalty,  with  a  prejudice  which 
no  doubt  shows  their  ignorance,  yet  has  its  advantages, 
never  out  of  Greece  approves  the  nude,  whatever  connois- 
seurs may  say.  And  the  ambassadors  were  wanting  in 
respect,  yet  true  to  fact,  when  they  said  that  for  money 
anything  could  be  got  from  the  great  painter  who  never 
had  enough  for  his  needs.  Another  criticism,  which  would 
have  affected  him  more  than  either  of  these,  was  that  of 
some  of  his  great  rivals  in  art,  who  with  all  their  admira- 
tion had  still  something  to  find  fault  with  in  the  method  of 
his  work.  When  Titian  visited  Rome  it  was  the  good  for- 
tune of  Vasari,  who  had  already  some  acquaintance  with 
him,  to  show  him  the  great  sights  of  that  capital  of  the 
world.  And  one  day  while  Titian  was  painting  his 
portrait  of  the  pope,  Messer  Giorgio  the  good  Florentine, 
accompanied  by  a  great  countryman  of  his,  no  less  a  per- 
sonage than  Michel  Angelo,  paid  the  Venetian  painter  a 
visit  at  his  studio  in  the  Belvedere,  where  they  saw  the 
picture  of  Danae  under  the  rain  of  gold,  a  wonderful  piece 
of  color  and  delicate  flesh-painting,  which  they  applauded 
greatly.  But  afterward  as  they  came  away  talking 
together  in  their  grave  Tuscan  style,  the  great  master  of 
design  shook  his  serious  head  while  he  repeated  his  praises. 
What  a  pity,  die  peccato  !  that  these  Venetian  painters  did 
not  learn  to  draw  from  the  beginning  and  had  not  a  more 
thorough  method  of  teaching — for,  said  he,  **  if  this  man 
were  aided  by  art,  and  laws  of  design,  as  he  is  by  nature, 
and  by  his  power  of  counterfeiting  life,  no  oue  could  attain 
greater  excellence  than  he,  having  such  a  noble  genius  and 
such  a  fine  and  animated  manner  of  working. ^^  In  almost 
the  same  words  Sebastian  del  Piombo  lamented  to  Messer 
Giorgio  the  same  defect ;  which  certainly  must  have  been 
Vasari's  opinion  too,  or  his  friends  would  not  have  re- 
marked it  so  freely.  But  they  all  allowed  that  he  was  ^7 
piu  lello  e  maggiore  imitatore  della  Natura  that  had  ever 
been  seen ;  and  perhaps  this  was  praise  enough  for  one 
man. 
He  lived  till  ninety,  a  splendid,  successful,  prosperous,  but 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  295 

not  very  elevated  or  noble  life,  working  on  till  the  very 
end,  not  from  necessity,  or  from  any  higher  motive,  but 
apparently  from  a  love  of  gain,  and  tradcsmanlike  instinct 
against  refusing  any  order,  as  well  as  no  doubt  from  a  true 
love  of  tlie  beautiful  art,  to  which  his  life  had  been  devoted 
from  childhood  up.  The  boy  of  ten  who  had  come  down 
from  his  mountains  to  clean  Zuan  Bellini's  palette,  and 
pick  up  the  secrets  of  the  craft  in  his  lottega  before  he  was 
old  enough  for  serious  teaching,  had  a  long  career  from 
tliat  beginning  until  the  day  when  he  was  carried  to  the 
Frari  in  hasty  state  by  special   order  of  the  signoria,  to  be 


HEAD  FROM  TITIAN'S  TOMB:  BEUEVED 
TO  BE  F.   PAOLO  8ARPI. 


buried  there  against  all  law  and  rule,  while  the  other 
victims  of  the  plague  were  taken  in  secret  to  out-lying 
islands  and  put  into  the  earth  out  of  the  way,  in  the  hide- 
ous panic  which  that  horrible  complaint  brought  with  it. 
But  never  during  all  this  long  interval,  three  parts  of  a 
century,  had  he  given  up  the  close  pursuit  of  his  art.  And 
what  changes  during  that  time  had  passed  over  art  in 
Venice  !  The  timid  tempera  period  was  altogether  extinct 
— the  disciples  of  the  old  school  all  gone  ;  and  of  the  first 
generation  which  revolutionized  the  Venetian  hottegas,  and 
brought  nature  and  the  secret  of  lustrous  modern  color, 
and  ease  and  humanity  into  art,  none  were   left.     Bellini 


296  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

and  Caipaccio  and  all  the  throng  of  lesser  masters  had  been 
swept  away  in  the  long  inevitable  procession  of  the  genera- 
tions. And  their  principles  had  been  carried  into  the 
sensuous  brilliancy  of  a  development  which  loved  color  and 
the  dimpled  roundness  of  flesh,  and  the  beauty  which  is  of 
the  body  rather  than  the  mind.  When  Titian  began,  his 
teachers  and  masters  applied  all  their  faculties  to  the  set- 
ting forth  of  a  noble  ideal,  of  perfect  devotion  and  purity 
of  manhood  and  womanhood,  with  the  picturesque  clothing 
and  sentiment  of  their  century,  yet  consecrated  by  some 
higher  purpose,  something  in  which  all  the  generations 
should  sympathize  and  be  of  accord.  When  he  ended,  the 
world  was  full  of  images  lovely  in  their  manner,  in  which 
the  carnagione  of  the  naked  limbs,  the  painting  of  a 
dimple,  were  of  more  importance  than  all  the  emotions 
that  touch  the  soul.  It  is  none  of  our  business  to  make 
moral  distinctions  between  the  one  method  and  the  other. 
This  was  the  result  in  Venice  of  that  new  inspiration  which 
the  older  painters  had  first  turned  to  every  pious  and  noble 
use.  And  it  was  Titian  in  his  love  of  beauty,  in  his  love 
of  money,  in  his  magnificent  faculty  of  work  and  adapta- 
bility to  the  wishes  of  the  time  that  brought  it  about.  His 
associates  of  youth  all  dropped  from  him,  the  gentle  Palma, 
now  called  il  Vecchio,  dying  midway  in  the  career  of  the 
robuster  companion,  as  Giorgione  had  fallen  at  its  begin- 
ning. In  his  long  life  and  endless  labors,  as  well  as  in  his 
more  persevering  and  steady  power,  Titian,  whatever  hints 
and  instructions  he  may  have  taken,  as  his  later  prosaic 
biographers  suggest  from  each  of  them,  outdid  them  both. 
And  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  still  stands  above  them 
all,  at  least  in  the  general  estimation,  dwelling  in  a  su- 
premacy of  skill  and  strength  upon  the  side  of  the  deep 
flowing  stream  that  divides  Venice,  dominating  everything 
that  came  after  him,  like  the  white  marble  mountain  of  the 
Salute,  but  never  learning  the  heavenly  secret  of  the  elder 
brotherhood  who  first  instructed  his  youth. 

There  are  some  picturesque  anecdotes  of  Titian  which 
everybody  knows,  as  for  instance  that  of  the  astounding 
moment   in   which   the   painter   having  dropped  a  brush. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


297 


great  Charles  the  lord  of  so  many  kingdoms,  a  Spaniard 
and  accustomed  to  the  utmost  rigidity  of  etiquette,  the 
Konian  Emperor  at  the  apex  of  human  glory,  made  the 
liair  stand  on  end  of  every  courtly  heholder  by  picking  it 
up.  "Your  servant  is  unworthy  of  such  an  honor,"  said 
Titian,  in  words  that  might  have  been  addressed  to  some- 


thing divine.  *'  A  Titian  is  worthy  to  be  served  by  Caesar, '' 
replied  his  imperial  majesty,  not  undervaluing  the  conde- 
scension, as  perhaps  a  friendly  English  prince  who  had 
acted  on  impulse,  or  a  more  light-hearted  Frenchman  with 
the  de  rien  of  exquisite  courtesy,  might  have  done.  Cliarles 
knew  it  was  an  incident  for  history,  and  conducted  him- 
self accordingly.     There   is  a  prettier  and  more  pleasant 


298  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

suggestion  in  the  scene  recorded  by  Kiodolfi,  which  de- 
scribes how  Titian,  while  painting  Alfonso  of  Este,  the 
Duke  of  Ferrara,  was  visited  by  Ariosto  with  the  divino 
suo  poema  in  his  pocket,  which  he  was  still  in  the  course 
of  writing — who  read  aloud  his  verses  for  the  delight  of 
both  sitter  and  painter,  and  afterward  talked  it  over,  and 
derived  much  advantage  from  Titian's  criticisms  and  re- 
marks, which  helped  him  *'  in  the  description  of  land- 
scapes and  in  setting  forth  the  beauty  of  xilcina,  Angelica, 
and  Bradamante."  ''  Thus,''  Eidolfi  adds,  ''  Art  held  the 
office  of  mute  poetry,  and  poetry  of  painting  eloquent." 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  299 


CHAPTER  III. 

TINTORETTO. 

When  Titian  was  at  the  height,  or  rather  approaching 
the  height,  of  his  honors,  a  certain  little  dyer,  or  dyer's 
son,  a  born  Venetian,  from  one  of  the  side  canals  where 
the  tintori  are  still  by  times  to  be  seen,  purple-limbed  from 
the  dye-houses,  was  brought  to  his  studio.  Tlie  lad  had 
daubed  with  his  father's  colors  since  he  could  walk,  trac- 
ing figures  upon  the  walls  and  every  vacant  space,  and  no 
doubt  with  his  spirito  stravagante  making  himself  a  nui- 
sance to  all  his  belongings.  Robusto,  the  father,  was  a 
man  of  sense,  no  doubt,  and  saw  it  was  vain  to  strive 
against  so  strong  a  natural  impulse  ;  besides,  there  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  do  so,  for  he  had  no  position  to  for- 
feit, and  the  trade  of  a  painter  was  a  prosperous  trade,  and 
not  one  to  be  despised  by  any  honest  citizen.  We  are  not 
told  at  what  age  young  Jacopo,  the  tintorettino,  the  little 
dyer,  came  into  the  great  painter's  studio.  But  he  was 
born  in  1512,  and  if  we  suppose  him  to  be  fifteen  or  so, 
no  doubt  that  would  be  the  furthest  age  which  he  was 
likely  to  have  reached  before  being  set  to  his  apprentice- 
ship by  a  prudent  Venetian  father.  The  story  of  his 
quickly  interrupted  studies  there  is  told  by  Ridolfi  with 
every  appearance  of  truthfulness. 

"Not  many  days  after,  Titian  came  into  the  room  where 
his  pupils  worked,  and  seeing  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the 
benches  certain  papers  upon  which  figures  were  drawn, 
asked  who  had  done  them.  Jacopo,  who  was  the  author 
of  the  same,  afraid  to  have  done  wrong,  timidly  said  that 
they  were  from  his  hand.  Titian  perceiving  from  these 
beginnings  that  the  boy  would  probably  become  a  great 


300  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

man,  and  give  him  trouble  in  his  supremacy  of  art,  had  no 
sooner  gone  upstairs  and  laid  aside  his  mantle  than  he 
called  Girolamo,  his  pupil  (for  in  human  breasts  jealousy 
works  like  a  canker),  to  whom  he  gave  orders  to  send 
Jacopo  away/' 

'"Thus,"  adds  Ridolfi,  *' without  hearing  the  reason, 
he  was  left  without  a  master."  The  story  is  an  ugly  one 
for  Titian:  though  it  is  insinuated  of  other  masters  that 
they  have  regarded  the  progress  of  their  pupils  with 
alarm,  there  has  been  no  such  circumstantial  account  of 
professional  jealously  in  the  very  budding  of  youthful 
powers.  Vasari,  who  was  a  contemporary  of  botli,  and  a 
friend  of  Titian,  though  he  does  not  mention  this  incident, 
gives  in  his  sketch  of  the  younger  painter  a  picture  which 
accords  in  every  respect  with  Ridolfi's  detailed  biography, 
though  the  criticism  of  Vasari  has  all  the  boldness  of  a 
contemporary,  and  that  lively,  amused  appreciation  with 
which  a  calm  looker-on  beholds  the  eccentricities  of  a 
passionate  genius  which  he  admires  but  cannot  understand. 
Tintoretto^'s  violence  and  extravagance  had  become  classi- 
cal by  Ridolfi's  time.  They  were  still  half  ridiculous,  a 
thing  to  talk  about  with  shrugged  shoulders  and  shaken 
head,  in  the  days  when  Messer  Giorgio  of  Florence  had 
the  story  told  to  him,  or  perhaps  saw  with  his  own  eyes 
the  terrible  painter  rushing  with  the  force  of  a  giant  at 
his  work. 

"In  the  same  city  of  Venice,"  says  Vasari,  suddenly  bursting 
into  this  lively  narrative  in  the  midst  of  the  labored  record  of  a 
certain  Battista  Franco  who  was  nobody,  "  there  lived  and  lives  still 
a  painter  called  Jacopo  Tintoretto,  full  of  worth  and  talent,  espe- 
cially in  music  and  in  playing  divers  instruments,  and  in  other 
respects  amiable  in  all  his  actions:  but  in  matters  of  art,  extravagant, 
capricious,  swift  and  resolute;  and  the  most  hot-headed  {il  piu 
terrible  cervello)  that  ever  has  taken  painting  in  hand,  as  may  be 
seen  in  all  his  works  and  in  the  fantastic  composition  which  he  puts 
together  in  his  own  way,  different  from  the  use  and  custom  of  other 
painters,  surpassing  extravagance  with  new  and  capricious  inven- 
tions, and  strange  whims  of  intellect,  working  on  the  spur  of  the 
morr**nt  and  without  design,  almost  as  if  art  was  a  mere  pleasantry. 
*5ometimes  he  will  put  forth  sketches  as  finished  pictures,  so  roughly 


PALAZZO  CAMELLO:   HOUSE  OF  TINTORKTTO. 


TofacepagtV^, 


TUB  MAKERS  OB  VENICE.  301 

dasbed  in  that  the  strokes  of  the  brush  are  clearly  visible,  as  if  done 
by  accident  or  in  defiance  rather  than  by  design  and  judgment.  He 
has  worked  almost  in  every  style,  in  fresco,  in  oil,  portraits  from 
nature,  and  at  every  price:  in  such  a  way  that  according  to  their 
different  modes,  he  has  painted  and  still  paints  the  greater  number 
of  pictures  that  are  executed  in  Venice.  And  as  in  his  youth  he 
showed  much  understanding  in  many  fine  works,  if  he  had  known 
the  great  principle  which  there  is  in  nature,  and  aided  it  with  study 
and  cool  judgment,  as  those  have  done  who  have  followed  the  fine 
methods  of  their  predecessors,  and  had  not,  as  he  has  done, 
abandoned  this  practice,  he  would  have  been  one  of  the  best  painters 
who  have  ever  been  known  in  Venice — not  that  it  should  be  under- 
stood by  this  that  he  is  not  actually  a  fine  and  good  painter,  of  a 
vivid,  fanciful,  and  gracious  spirit." 

How  tliis  swift,  imperious,  masterful  genius  was  formed, 
Ridolfi  tells  us  with  much  more  detail  than  is  usual,  and 
with  many  graphic  touches,  himself  waking  up  in  the 
midst  of  his  somewhat  dry  biographies  with  a  quickened 
interest,  and  that  pleasure  in  coming  across  a  vigorous 
original  human  being  amid  so  many  shadows  whicli  none 
but  a  writer  of  biographical  sketches  can  fully  know.  No 
one  of  all  our  painters  stands  out  of  the  canvas  like  the 
dyer's  son,  robust  as  his  name,  a  true  type,  perhaps  the 
truest  of  all,  of  his  indomitable  race.  When  he  was  turned 
out  of  Titian^s  studio,  ^*  every  one  may  conceive/'  says 
Ridolfi,  **  what  disgust  he  felt  in  his  mind." 

"  But  such  affronts  become  sometimes  powerful  stimulants  to  the 
noble  spirit,  and  afford  material  for  generous  resolutions.  Jacopo, 
excited  by  indignation,  although  still  but  a  boy,  turned  over  in  his 
mind  how  to  carry  on  the  career  he  had  begun — and  not  allowing 
himself  to  be  carried  away  by  passion,  knowing  the  greatness  of 
Titian,  whose  honors  were  predicted  by  all,  he  considered  in  every 
way  how,  by  means  of  studying  the  works  of  that  master,  and  the 
relievos  of  Michael  Angelo  Buonarotti,  reputed  father  of  design,  he 
might  become  a  painter.  Thus,  with  the  help  of  these  two  divine 
lights,  whom  painting  and  sculpture  have  rendered  so  illustrious  in 
modern  times,  he  went  forward  toward  his  desired  end:  well  advised 
to  provide  himself  with  secure  escort  to  point  out  the  path  to  him 
in  difiScult  passages.  And  in  order  not  to  deviate  from  his  proposed 
course  he  inscribed  the  laws  which  were  to  regulate  his  studies 
upon  the  walls  of  the  cabinet  in  which  he  pursued  them,  as 
follows: 


302  THE  MAKEKS  OF  VENICE. 

"  1l  desegno  di  Michel  Angelo,  e'l  Colorito  di  titiano. 

"  Upon  this  lie  set  himself  to  collect  from  all  quarters,  not  without 
great  expense,  casts  of  ancient  marbles  ;  and  procured  from  Florence 
the  miniature  models  done  by  Daniele  Volterrano  from  the  figuran 
upon  the  tombs  of  the  Medici  in  San  Lorenzo  in  that  city  ;  that  is. 
the  Aurora,  the  Twilight,  the  Day  and  the  Night,  of  which  he  made 
a  special  study,  making  drawings  of  them  from  every  side,  and  by 
the  light  of  a  lamp,  in  order,  by  the  strong  shadows  thrown  from  this 
light,  to  form  in  himself  a  powerful  and  effective  manner.  In  the 
same  way,  every  arm,  hand,  and  torso  which  he  could  collect  he 
drew  over  and  over  again  on  colored  paper  with  charcoal,  in  water- 
colors,  and  every  other  way  in  which  he  could  teach  himself  what 
was  necessary  for  the  uses  of  art.  .  .  .  Nor  did  he  give  up  copying 
the  pictures  of  Titian,  upon  which  he  established  an  excellent 
method  of  color,  so  that  many  things  painted  by  him  in  the  flower  of 
his  age  retain  all  the  advantages  of  that  style,  to  which  he  added 
those  of  much  observation  from  his  continual  studies,  and  thus  fol- 
lowing the  traces  of  the  best  masters,  advanced  with  great  steps 
toward  perfection." 

We  need  not  follow  Ridolfi  in  his  detailed  account  of  all 
the  experiments  of  the  self-instructed  painter — how  he 
'^departed  from  the  study  of  nature  alone,  which  for  the 
most  part  produces  things  imperfect,  not  conjoining,  except 
rarely,  all  the  parts  of  corresponding  beauty; ""  how  he  im- 
provised for  himself  a  course  of  anatomy;  how  he  fore- 
stalled the  lay  figures  of  m.odern  times  by  models  of  wax 
and  plaster,  upon  which  he  hung  his  draperies  ;  how  he 
arranged  his  lights,  both  by  day  and  night,  so  as  to  throw 
everything  into  bold  I'elief.  His  invention  seems  to  have 
been  endless:  in  his  solitary  workshop,  without  tlie  aid  of 
any  master,  the  young  man  faced  by  himself  all  the  diffi- 
culties of  his  art,  and  made  for  himself  many  of  the  aids 
which  the  ingenuity  of  later  ages  has  been  supposed  to  con- 
trive for  the  advantage  of  the  student.  Nor  did  lie  confine 
himself  to  his  studio,  or  to  those  endless  expedients  for 
seeing  his  models  on  every  side,  and  securing  the  effect  of 
them  in  every  light. 

"  He  also  continued,  in  order  to  practice  himself  in  the  manage- 
ment of  color  to  visit  every  place  where  painting  was  going  on — and 
it  is   said   that,  drawn   by   the   desire   of   work,    he  went   with  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  303 

builders  to  Cittadella,  where  round  the  rays  of  the  clock  he  painted 
various  fanciful  matters,  solely  to  relieve  his  mind  of  some  of  the 
innumerable  thoughts  that  filled  it.  He  went  much  about  also 
among  the  painters  of  lower  pretensions  who  worked  in  the 
piazzo  of  San  Marco  on  the  painters'  benches,  to  learn  their  method 
too." 

The  painters'  benches,  le  handle  per  depintori,  were  as 
Ridolfi  tells  us  in  another  place,  under  the  porticoes  in 
the  Piazza,  where,  according  to  an  ancient  privilege  granted 
by  the  senate,  the  poorer  or  humbler  members  of  the 
profession  plied  their  trade,  painting  on  chests  and  prob- 
ably other  articles  of  furniture  ^'  histories,  foliage,  gro- 
tesques, and  other  bizarre  things/'  They  would  seem  to 
have  worked  in  the  open  air,  unsheltered,  save  by  tlie 
arches  of  the  colonnade,  where  now  tourists  sip  their  ices 
and  gossiping  politicians  congregate;  and  to  have  sold  their 
wares  as  they  vvorked,  a  lowly  but  not  unprofitable  branch 
of  an  already  too  much  followed  profession.  The  depmtori 
da  hanche  seem  to  have  been  a  recognized  section  of  artists 
and  such  a  painter  as  Schiavone  was  fain  by  times  in  his 
poverty,  we  are  told,  to  get  a  day's  work  from  a  friend  of 
this  humble  order.  The  dyer's  son  it  is  evident,  had  no 
such  need.  He  went  but  to  look  on,  to  watch  how  they 
got  those  bold  effects  which  told  upon  the  cassettone  for  a 
bourgeois  bride,  or  the  finer  ornamentation  of  the  coffer 
which  was  to  inclose  the  patrician  lady's  embroideries  of 
gold.  He  scorned  no  instruction  wherever  he  could  find 
it,  this  determined  student,  whom  Titian  had  refused  to 
teach. 

And  it  adds  a  new  feature  to  that  ancient  Venice  which 
was  so  like,  yet  unlike,  the  present  city  of  tlje  sea,  to  be- 
hold thus  clearly  in  the  well-known  scene  the  painters  on 
their  benches,  with  their  long  panels  laid  out  for  sale,  and 
admiring  groups  lingering  in  their  walk  to  watch  over  the 
busy  artist's  shoulder  the  piogress  he  was  making,  or  to 
cheapen  the  fine-painted  lid  of  a  box  which  was  wanted  for 
some  approaching  wedding.  The  new  porticoes  were  not 
yet  quite  completed,  and  the  chippings  of  the  stones,  and 
all  the  dust  of  the  mason's  work,  must  have  disturbed  the 


304  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

painters,  who  were  of  too  little  account  to  trouble  San- 
sovino,  the  fine  architect,  who  was  then  piling  up  the 
Procuratie  Nuove  in  those  dignified  masses,  over  the  heads 
of  all  the  gay  and  varied  life  going  on  below. 

"Tn  those  days,"  adds  Ridolfi,  "  wliich  may  be  called  tlie  happy 
days  of  painting,  there  abounded  in  Venice  many  youths  of  fine 
genius,  who,  full  of  talent,  made  great  progress  in  art,  exhibiting  in 
emulation  one  with  another  the  result  of  their  labors  in  the  Merceria, 
in  order  to  know  the  opinions  of  the  spectators  :  where  also  Tintoretto 
with  his  inventions  and  fancies  did  not  fail  to  show  the  effects  which 
God  and  nature  had  worked  in  him.  And  among  the  things  which  he 
thus  exhibited  where  two  portraits,  one  of  himself  with  a  relievo  in  his 
hand,  the  other  of  his  brother  playing  the  harp,  represented  by  night 
with  such  tremendous  force,  con  si  terribile  maniera,  that  every 
beholder,  was  struck  with  amazement :  at  sight  of  which  a  gentle 
bystander,  moved  by  the  sight  of  so  much  poetic  rapture,  sung 
thus  : 

** '  Si  Tinctorettus  nodes  sic  lucet  in  umbris 
Exorto  faciei  quid  radiante  Die  ?  ' 

"  He  exhibited  also  in  Rialto  a  history  with  many  figures,  the 
fame  of  which  reached  the  ears  of  Titian  himself,  who,  going  up  to 
it  in  haste,  could  not  contain  his  praises,  though  he  wished  no  good 
to  his  despised  scholar  :  genius  {la  virtu)  being  of  that  condition  that 
even  when  full  of  envy  it  cannot  withhold  praise  of  true  merit  though 
in  an  enemy." 

With  all  this,  however,  Tintoretto  did  not  prosper  in 
the  exercise  of  his  profession.  He  got  no  commissions  like 
the  other  young  men.  The  cry  was  all  for  Palma  Vecchio, 
for  Pordenone,  for  Bonifazio,  says  Ridolfi,  perhaps  not  too 
exact  in  his  dates  :  but  above  all  for  Titian,  who  received 
most  of  the  commissions  of  importance.  Titian  himself, 
however,  was  at  the  probable  time  referred  to,  about  1530, 
the  earliest  date  at  which  Tintoretto  could  possibly  match 
himself  against  the  elder  painters,  much  pressed  by  Por- 
denone^ to  whom  the  senate  were  anxious  to  hand  over  his 
uncompleted  work.  In  short,  it  is  evident  that  the  brother- 
hood of  art  was  already  suffering  from  too  much  competi- 
tion. The  dyer's  energetic  son,  who  seems  to  have  had  no 
pinch  of  necessity  forcing  him  to  paint  cassettojii  like  the 
other  poor  painters,  moved    heaven  and   earth,   with  the 


i^*:25i? 'Si^^'^ 


-^  \% 


PALAZ2S0  CAHELLO:  H0U8B  OF  TINTORETTO. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  305 

high-handed  vigor  which  pecuniary  independence  gives,  to 
get  woi-k  for  himself,  and  to  make  himself  known.  If  it 
was  work  which  he  did  not  p;iy,  no  matter;  the  determined 
painter  took  it  in  hand  all  the  same  :  and  to  poor  churches 
in  need  of  decoration  his  advent  would  be  agodsend. 
Whether  it  was  an  organ  that  wanted  painting,  or  the 
front  of  a  house,  or  an  altar-piece  for  a  little  out-of-the 
way  chapel,  he  was  ready  for  all.  On  one  occasion  a  house 
which  was  being  built  near  the  Ponte  dell'  Angelo  seemed 
to  him  to  afford  a  fitting  opportunity  for  the  exhibition  of 
his  powers.  He  addressed  himself  accordingly  to  the 
builders — with  whom  it  seems  to  have  been  the  interest  of 
the  painters  to  keep  a  good  understanding,  and  who  were 
often  intrusted  with  the  responsibility  of  ordering  such 
frescoes  as  might  be  required — who  informed  him  that  the 
master  of  the  house  did  not  want  any  frescoes  painted. 
But  Tintoretto,  intoxicated  no  doubt  witii  the  prospect  of 
that  fine  fair  wall  all  to  himself,  to  cover  as  he  would, 
''determined  in  one  way  or  another  to  have  the  painting  of 
it,"  and  proposed  to  the  master  mason  to  paint  the  house 
for  nothing,  for  the  price  of  the  colors  merely.  This  offer 
being  submitted  to  the  proprietor  was  promptly  accepted, 
and  the  painter  had  his  way. 

Something  of  the  same  kind  happened,  according  to 
Ridolfi,  in  a  more  serious  undertaking  at  the  church  of  the 
Madonna  delF  Orto.  With  his  many  thoughts  ^'boiiingin 
his  fruitful  brain,"  and  with  an  overwhelming  desire  to 
prove  himself  the  boldest  painter  in  the  world,  he  suddenly 
proposed  to  the  prior  of  this  convent  to  paint  the  two  sides 
of  the  chief  chapel  behind  the  great  altar.  The  frescoed 
house-fronts  are  visible  no  longer,  but  the  two  vast  pictures 
in  this  chapel  remain  to  tell  the  tale.  The  spaces  were 
fifty  feet  in  height,  and  the  prior  laughed  at  the  mad 
suggestion,  thinking  that  for  such  a  work  the  whole  year's 
income  of  the  convent  would  scarcely  be  enough:  and,  with- 
out taking  any  notice  of  the  proposal,  bade  the  painter  good 
day.  But  Tintoretto,  taking  no  heed  of  this  dismissal, 
went  on  to  say  that  he  would  ask  nothing  for  the  work,  but 
only^  the  coat   of   the  material,   giving  his  own  time  and 


306  ■    THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

labor  as  a  gift.  These  words  made  the  prior  pause  :  for 
who  could  doubt  that  to  have  two  such  huge  illustrations, 
superior  to  all  around,  without  paying  anything  for  them, 
would  be  bairn  to  any  Venetian's  thoughts  ?  Finally  the 
bargain  was  made  and  the  work  begun,  the  painter  flinging 
himself  upon  it  with  all  his  strength.  The  two  great 
pictures,  one  representing  the  return  of  Moses  after  receiv- 
ing the  Tablets  of  the  Law,  to  find  that  all  Israel  was 
worsliiping  the  golden  calf,  the  other  the  Last  Judgment, 
were  promptly  executed,  and  still  remain,  gigantic,  to  the 
admiration  of  all  spectators.  The  fame  of  this  strange 
bargain  ran  through  the  city,  and  attracted  the  attention 
of  all  classes.  The  critics  and  authorities  shook  their  heads 
and  lamented  over  the  decay  of  art  which  had  to  resort  to 
such  measures.  "  But  little  cared  Tintoretto  for  the  dis- 
cussions of  the  painters,  proposing  to  himself  no  other  end 
than  self-satisfaction  and  glory — little  useful  as  these  things 
are." 

Both  Yasari  and  Ridolfi  concur  in  the  story  of  a  certain 
competition  at  the  school  of  San  Rocco,  in  which  Tintor- 
etto was  to  contend  with  Schiavone,  Salviati  and  Zucchero 
for  the  ornamentation  of  a  portion  of  the  ceiling.  While 
the  others  prepared  drawings  and  designs,  this  tremendous 
competitor  had  the  space  measured,  and  with  all  his  fire  of 
rapid  execution,  in  which  nobody  could  touch  him — so  that 
Vasari  says,  when  the  others  thought  he  had  scarcely 
begun,  he  had  already  finished — set  to  work  to  paint  a 
picture  of  the  subject  given.  When  the  day  of  the  com- 
petition arrived  he  conveyed  his  canvas  to  the  spot,  and 
had  it  secretly  fixed  up  in  its  place  and  covered — and  after 
the  other  competitors  had  exhibited  their  drawings  he,  to 
the  consternation  of  all,  snatched  away  the  linen  which 
covered  his  picture  and  revealed  it  completed.  A  great 
uproar,  as  might  be  supposed,  arose.  What  the  feelings  of 
his  rivals  were,  seeing  this  march  which  he  had  stolen 
upon  them,  may  be  imagined  ;  but  the  authorities  of  the 
confrater7iita,  solemnly  assembled  to  sit  upon  the  merits  of 
the  respective  designs,  were  no  less  moved.  They  told 
him  with  indignation  that  they  had  met  to  inspect  designs 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  307 

and  choose  one  which  pleased  them  for  after-execution,  not 
to  have  a  finished  picture  thrust  upon  them.  To  which 
Tintoretto  answered  that  this  was  liis  method  of  designing, 
that  lie  could  not  do  otherwise,  and  that  designs  and 
modelsought  to  be  so  executed,  in  order  that  no  one  should 
be  deceived  as  to  their  ultimate  effect  :  and  finally,  that  if 
they  did  not  wish  to  pay  him  he  willingly  made  a  present 
of  the  picture  to  the  saint.  '^And  thus  saying,"  adds 
Vasari,  "  though  there  was  still  much  opposition,  he  pro- 
duced such  an  effect  that  the  work  is  there  to  this  day." 
llidolfi,  enlarging  the  tale,  describes  how  the  other  painters, 
stupefied  by  the  sight  of  so  great  a  work  executed  in  so 
few  days  and  so  exquisitely  finished,  gathered  up  their 
drawings  and  told  the  fraternity  that  they  withdrew  from 
the  competition,  Tintoretto  by  the  merit  of  his  work  hav- 
ing fairly  won  the  victory.  Notwithstanding  which  the 
heads  of  the  corporation  still  insisted  that  he  should  take 
away  his  picture  ;  declaring  that  they  had  given  him  no 
commission  to  paint  it,  but  had  desired  only  to  have 
sketches  submitted  to  them  that  they  might  give  the  work 
to  whoever  pleased  them  best.  When,  however,  he  flung 
the  picture  at  their  heads,  so  to  speak,  and  they  found 
themselves  obliged  to  keep  it,  whether  they  liked  it  or  not 
(for  they  could  not  by  their  law  refuse  a  gift  made  to 
their  saint),  milder  counsels  prevailed,  and  finally  the 
greater  part  of  the  votes  were  given  to  Tintoretto,  and  it 
was  decided  that  he  should  be  paid  a  just  price  for  his 
work.  He  was  afterward  formally  appointed  to  do  all  that 
was  necessary  for  the  future  adornment  of  the  scuola,  and 
received  from  the  society  a  grant  of  a  hundred  ducats 
yearly  for  his  whole  life,  he  on  his  side  binding  himself  to 
paint  a  picture  for  them  every  year." 

This  proceeding  proves  the  justice  of  what  Vasari  says, 
always  with  a  certain  half-amusement.  "  These  works  and 
many  others  which  he  left  behind  him  were  done  by  Tin- 
toretto so  rapidly,  tliat  when  others  scarcely  believed  him 
to  have  begun  he  had  finished:  and  the  wonderful  thing 
was  that  though  he  had  adopted  the  most  extravagant 
methods  in  the  world  to  secure  commissions  yet  when  he 


308  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

failed  to  do  so  by  interest  or  friendship  he  was  ready  to 
sacrifice  all  gain  and  give  his  work  at  a  small  price,  or  for 
nothing,  so  as  to  force  its  acceptance,  in  order  that  one 
way  or  other  he  should  succeed  in  getting  the  work  to 
do/' 

Ridolfi  adds  that  the  Scoula  of  San  Rocco  when  com- 
pleted became  in  itself  a  sort  of  Accademia 

"  The  resort  of  the  studious  in  painting,  and  In  particular  of  all  the 
foreigners  from  the  other  side  of  the  Alps  who  came  to  Venice  at  that 
time,  Tintoretto's  works  serving  as  examples  of  composition,  of 
grace,  and  harmony  of  design,  of  the  management  of  light  and  shade, 
and  force  and  freedom  of  color,  and  in  short  of  all  that  can  be  called 
most  accurate  and  can  mosi  exhibit  the  gifts  of  the  ingenious 
painter." 

The  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  Alps,  who  follows  his  pre- 
decessors into  the  echoing  halls  of  San  Rocco,  can  judge  for 
himself  still  of  the  great  works  thus  eulogized,  and  see  the 
picture  which  Tintoretto  fixed  upon  the  roof,  while  his 
rivals  prepared  their  drawings,  and  which  he  flung  as  it 
were,  at  the  brotherhood  when  they  demurred.  His  foot- 
steps are  all  over  Venice,  in  almost  every  church  and 
wherever  pictures  are  to  be  seen — from  the  great  Paradiso 
in  the  council  hall,  the  greatest  picture  in  one  sense  in  the 
world,  down  to  the  humblest  chapels,  parish  churches, 
sacristies,  there  is  scarcely  an  opportunity  which  he  has 
neglected  to  make  himself  seen  and  known.  According  to 
the  evidence  of  the  historians  of  art,  Titian  never  forgave 
the  boy  whose  greatness  he  had  foreseen,  and  there  is  at 
least  one  subject,  that  of  the  Presentation,  which  the  two 
painters  have  treated  with  a  certain  similarity,  with  what 
one  cannot  but  feel  must,  in  the  person  of  the  younger  at 
least  have  been  an  intended  rivalry.  These  two  splendid 
examples  of  art  remain,  if  not  side  by  side,  as  the  pictures 
of  Turner  hang  beside  the  serene  splendor  of  the  Claudes 
in  our  own  National  Gallery,  yet  with  an  emulation  not 
dissimilar,  which  in  some  minds  will  always  militate  against 
the  claims  of  the  artist  whose  aim  is  to  prove  that  he  is 
the  better  man.     The  same  great  critic  who  has  been  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  309 

life-long  champion  of  Turner  against  the  claims  of  his  long 
dead  rival  has  in  like  manner  espoused  those  of  the  later 
master  in  Venice.  And  in  respect  to  these  particular 
pictures,  they  are,  we  believe,  a  sort  of  test  of  art  under- 
standing by  which  the  lUuminati  judge  the  capacity  of  the 
less  instructed  according  to  the  preference  they  give.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  Tintoretto's  greatness,  the  wonderful 
sweep  and  grandeur  which  his  contemporaries  call  strava- 
gante,  the  lavish  power  with  which  he  treats  every  subject, 
nothing  too  great,  too  laborious,  for  his  hand,  cannot  fail 
to  impress  the  beholder.  He  works  like  a  giant,  flinging 
himself  abroad  ''  upon  the  wings  of  all  the  winds,"  with 
something  of  the  immortal  bottom  in  him,  determined  to 
do  the  lion  too,  at  which  a  keen  observer  like  Vasari  can- 
not but  smile:  and  yet  no  clown  but  a  demi-god,  full  of 
power,  if  also  full  of  emulation  and  determination  to  be  the 
best.  But  the  man  is  still  more  remarkable  than  his  work, 
and  to  the  lover  of  human  nature  more  interesting,  an  ideal 
Venetian,  rather  of  the  fifteenth  than  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  in  his  imperious  independence  and  self-will  and 
resolution  to  own  no  master.  All  the  arrogance  of  the  well- 
to-do  citizen  is  in  him;  he  who  will  take  the  wall  of  any 
man,  and  will  not  yield  a  jot  or  tittle  of  his  own  preten- 
sions for  the  most  splendid  gallant,  or  the  greatest  genius 
in  Christendom:  one  who  is  not  to  be  trifled  with  or  con- 
descended to — nor  will  submit  to  any  parleying  about  his 
work  or  undervaluing  of  his  manhood.  No  fine  patrician, 
no  company  even  of  his  townsfolk  he  was  resolved  should 
play  patron  to  him.  He  did  not  require  their  money — one 
large  ingredient  in  such  a  character:  he  could  afford  to  do 
without  them,  to  fling  his  pictures  at  their  heads  if  need 
were,  to  execute  their  commissions  for  love,  or,  at  least,  for 
glory,  not  for  their  pay,  or  anything  they  could  do  for  him: 
but  all  the  same  not  to  be  shut  out  from  any  competition 
that  was  going,  not  to  be  thrust  aside  by  the  foolish  prefer- 
ence of  the  employer  for  any  other  workman:  determined 
that  he,  and  he  only,  should  have  every  great  piece  of  work 
there  was  to  do. 

Ridolfi,  who  lingers  upon  every  incident  with  the  pleasure 


310  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE'. 

of  an  enthusiast,  and  who  is  entirely  on  Tintoretto's  side 
against  Titian  and  all  his  fine  company  of  critics,  tells  how 
the  painter  once  inquired  with  the  naivete  of  an  ignorance 
which  he  was  rather  proud  to  show  of  all  court  practices 
and  finery — what  was  the  meaning  of  a  certain  act  which 
he  saw  performed  by  King  Henry  of  France  on  the  occasion 
of  his  visit  to  Venice.  Tintoretta  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  paint  a  portrait  of  the  king,  with  a  sort  of  republican 
sentiment,  half  admiration,  half  contempt,  for  that  strange 
animal,  and  in  order  to  do  this  threw  aside  his  toga  (which 
his  wife  had  persuaded  him  to  wear,  though  he  had  no  real 
right  to  that  patrician  garment),  and,  putting  on  the  livery 
of  the  doge,  mingled  in  the  retinue  by  which  his  majesty 
was  attended,  and  hung  about  in  the  anti-chambers,  mark- 
ing the  king's  individuality,  his  features  and  ways — until 
his  presence  and  object  were  discovered,  and  he  was  ad- 
mitted to  have  a  formal  sitting.  The  painter  observed  that 
from  time  to  time  certain  personages  were  introduced  to 
the  king,  who  touched  them  lightly  on  the  shoulder  with 
his  sword,  adding  divers  ceremonies.  What  did  it  mean, 
he  asked  with  simplicity,  probably  somewhat  affected,  as 
the  courtier  chamberlain,  who  was  his  friend,  approached 
him  in  all  the  importance  of  office?  The  Polonius  of  the 
moment  explained  with  pompous  fullness,  and  added  tliat 
Tintoretto  must  prepare  to  go  through  the  same  ceremony 
in  his  own  person,  since  the  king  intended  to  make  a 
knight  of  him.  Eidolfi  says  that  the  painter  modestly  de- 
clined the  honor — more  probably  strode  off  with  sturdy 
contempt  and  a  touch  of  unrestrained  derision,  very  certain 
that  whatever  Titian  and  the  others  might  think,  no  king's 
touch  upon  his  shoulder,  or  patent  of  rank  conferred, 
could  make  any  difference  to  him! 

And  notwithstanding  that  all  the  historians  are  anxious 
to  record  as  a  set-off  against  these  wild  ways,  the  fact  that 
he  was  very  amiable  in  his  private  life,  and  fond  of  music, 
and  to  suonare  il  Uuto,  here  is  a  little  story  which  makes 
us  feel  that  it  must  have  been  somewhat  alarming,  if  he 
had  any  grievance  against  one,  to  be  left  alone  with  Tin- 
toretto.    On  some  occasion  not  explained,  the  painter  met 


COURTYARD  OF  PALAZZO  CAMELLa 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  311 

Pietro  Aretino,  the  iufamonsbut  much-courted  man  of  let- 
ters, who  was  the  center  of  the  fine  company,  the  friend  of 
Titian,  the  representative  of  luxury  and  corruption  in 
Venice,  and  invited  him  to  his  house^  under  pretense  of 
painting  his  portrait. 

"  When  Aretino  bad  come  in  and  disposed  liimself  to  sit,  Tintoretto 
with  much  violence  drew  forth  a  pistol  from  under  his  vest.  Aretino, 
in  alarm,  fearing  that  he  was  about  to  be  brought  to  account,  cried 
out,  '  What  are  you  doing,  Jacopo  ?  '  *  I  am  going  to  take  your  meas- 
ure,' said  the  other.  And  beginning  to  measure  from  the  head  to  the 
feet,  at  last  said  sedately,  '  Tour  height  is  two  pistols  and  a  half.' 
'Oh,  you  mad  fellow,'  cried  the  other  recovering  his  courage.  But 
Aretino  spoke  ill  of  Tintoretto  no  more." 

Perhaps  it  is  the  absence  of  what  we  may  call  the  liter- 
ary faculty  in  these  great  painters  that  makes  their  appeal 
so  much  more  exclusively  to  the  connoisseur  in  art,  to  the 
critic  qualified  to  judge  on  technical  and  classical  grounds, 
to  the  expert  in  short — than  to  the  amateur  who  seeks  in 
pictures  and  in  books  the  sympathy  of  humanity,  the  fine 
suggestion  which  rouses  the  imagination,  the  touch  that 
goes  to  the  heart.  The  earlier  masters  perhaps  in  all 
regions  (after  they  have  a  little  surmounted  the  difficulties 
of  pictorial  expression)  possess  this  gift  in  higher  develop- 
ment than  their  successors,  who,  carrying  art  to  its  per- 
fection of  design  and  color,  not  unusually  leave  the  heart 
and  the  imagination  of  the  spectator  altogether  out  of  the 
reckoning.  The  Bellini  and  Carpaccio  are  all  strong  in  this 
impulse,  which  is  common  to  poet  and  storyteller,  whether 
in  the  graver  paths  of  history  or  in  the  realms  of  fiction. 
They  appeal  to  something  in  uswliich  is  more  than  the  eye: 
they  never  lose  touch  of  human  sentiment,  in  the  Venetian 
streets  all  full  of  a  hundred  histories,  in  the  legends  of  love 
and  martyrdom  which  are  of  universal  potency,  in  the 
sweetest  ideal  of  life,  the  consecrated  women  and  children. 
Ursula  wrapped  in  maiden  sleep,  with  the  winged  Angel- 
Knight  touching  the  sweet  edge  of  her  dreams:  or  throned 
in  a  simple  majesty  of  youth  and  sacred  purity  and  love 
divine,  the  Mother  holding  up  to  men  and  Angels  the  Hope 


312  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

and  Saviour  of  mankind:  or  with  a  friendly  glow  of  sym- 
pathetic nature  diffused  all  around,  the  group  of  neighbors 
gazing  at  the  procession  in  the  Piazza,  the  women  kneeling 
on  the  edge  of  the  water-way  to  see  the  sacred  relic  go  by. 
Such  visions  do  not  come  to  us  from  the  magnificence  of 
Titian,  or  the  gigantic  power,  stravagante,  of  Tintoretto. 
A  few  noble  heads  of  senators  are  all  that  haunt  our  mem- 
ory, or  enter  into  our  friendship  from  the  hand  of  the  latter 
painter;  and  even  they  are  too  stern  sometimes,  too  author- 
itative and  conscious  of  their  dignity,  that  we  should  ven- 
ture to  employ  such  a  word  as  f liendshij).  Titian's  senators 
are  more  suave,  and  he  leaves  us  now  and  then  a  magnifi- 
cent fair  lady  to  fill  us  with  admiration  ;  but  except  one  or 
two  of  such  fine  images,  how  little  is  there  that  holds  pos- 
session of  our  love  and  liking,  and,  as  we  turn  away,  insists 
on  being  remembered !  Not  anything  certainly  in  the  great 
Assumption,  splendid  as  it  is,  and  perfect  as  it  may  be. 
Light,  shade,  color,  science,  and  beauty,  are  all  there,  but 
human  feeling  has  been  left  cut  in  the  magnificent  compo- 
sition. I  return  for  my  part  with  a  great  and  tender  pleas- 
ure to  the  silence  and  vast  solemnity  of  the  Frari  where 
that  one  young  serious  face  in  the  great  Pesaro  picture 
looks  out  of  the  canvas  suddenly,  wistfully,  asking  the 
meaning  of  many  things,  into  the  spectator's  heart — with 
a  feeling  that  this  is  about  the  one  thing  which  the  great 
Titian  has  ever  said  to  me. 

It  is  impossible  and  unnecessary  for  us,  standing  in  the 
place  of  the  unlearned,  to  go  into  full  detail  of  the  painters 
of  Venice,  or  discuss  the  special  qualities  of  Cima  in  all  his 
silvery  sweetness,  or  the  gentle  Palma,  or  the  bolder  Por- 
denone,  or  the  long  list  of  others  who  through  many  glow- 
ing and  beautiful  pieces  of  painting  conducted  art  from 
perfection  to  decay.  The  student  knows  where  to  find  all 
that  can  be  said  on  the  subject,  which  has  indeed  produced 
an  entire  literature  of  its  own.  When  all  is  said  that  can 
be  said  about  the  few  inaccurate  dates,  and  mistaken 
stories,  with  which  he  is  credited,  Messer  Giorgio  of 
Florence,  the  graphic  and  delightful  Vasari,  remains 
always  the  best  guide.     But,  alas,  he  was  not  a  Venetian, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  313 

and  his  histories  of  the  painters  of  Venice  are  generally 
modified  by  the  reflection,  more  or  less  disguised,  that  if 
they  had  but  had  the  luck  to  be  Florentines  they  might 
have  been  great ;  or  at  least  must  have  been  much  greater 
— even  the  great  Titian  himself. 

We  have  ventured  to  speak  of  some  of  the  works  of 
Titian  as  decorative  art.  The  productions  of  the  last  great 
painter  whose  name  will  naturally  recur  to  every  lover  of 
Venice,  the  splendid  and  knightly  Paul  Veronese,  claim 
this  character  still  more  distinctively — as  if  the  great 
republic,  unapproachable  in  so  many  ways,  had  seized  a  new 
splendor,  and  instead  of  tapestries  or  humbler  mural 
adornments,  had  contented  herself  with  nothing  less  than 
the  hand  of  genius  to  ornament  her  walls.  Those  wonder- 
ful halls  and  balconies,  those  great  banquets  spread  as 
upon  a  more  lordly  dais  of  imagination  and  exquisite  skill, 
those  widening  vistas  of  columns  and  balustrades  thronged 
with  picturesque  retainers,  the  tables  piled  with  glowing 
fruit  and  vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  in  a  mimic  luxury 
more  magnificent  than  any  fact,  transport  the  spectator 
with  a  sense  of  greatness,  of  wealth,  of  width  and  space, 
and  ever  beautiful  adornments,  which  perhaps  impairs  our 
appreciation  of  the  art  of  the  painter  in  its  purer  essence. 
No  king  ever  enlarged  and  furnished  and  decorated  his 
palace  like  the  Veronese ;  the  fine  rooms  in  which  these 
pictures  are  hung  are  but  antechambers  to  the  grander 
space  which  opens  beyond  in  the  painter^s  canvas.  It  is 
scarcely  enough,  though  magnificent  in  its  way,  to  see  them 
hanging  like  other  pictures  in  a  gallery,  among  the  works 
of  other  masters — for  them  their  purpose  is  lost,  and  half 
their  g'-andeur.  The  '*  Marriage  of  Cana,"  is  but  a  picture 
in  the  Louvre  ;  but  in  Venice,  as  we  walk  into  such  a  pres- 
ence and  see  the  splendid  party  serenely  banqueting,  with 
the  sky  opening  into  heavenly  blue  behind  them,  the  serv- 
ants bringing  in  the  courses,  appearing  and  disappearing 
behind  the  columns,  the  carpet  flung  in  all  its  oriental 
wealth  of  color  upon  the  cool  semi-transparence  of  the 
marble  steps,  the  room  of  which  this  forms  one  side,  is 
transformed  forever.     Were  it  the  humblest  chamber  in 


314 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


the  world  it  would  be  turned  into  a  palace  before  onr  eyes. 
Never  were  there  such  noble  and  princely  decorations ; 
they  widen  the  space,  they  fill  the  far- withdrawing  ante- 
rooms with  groups  worthy  the  reception  of  a  king.  Mr. 
Ruskin  gives  a  lively  account,  from  the  records  of  Venice, 


knocker:  PALAZZO  DA  PONTE. 


of  how  Messer  Paolo  was  had  up  before  the  inquisition,  no 
less,  on  the  charge  of  having  introduced  unbecoming  and 
undignified  figures,  negro  pages,  and  even  little  dogs,  into 
pictures  meant  for  the  church — where,  indeed,  such  details 
were  no  doubt  out  of  place.  But  Paul  of  Verona  was  not 
the  man  to  paint  religious  pictures,  having  no  turn  that 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  315 

way.  He  is  a  painter  for  palaces,  not  for  churches. 
Mind  of  man  never  devised  presence  chamber  or  splendid 
hall  that  he  could  not  have  rendered  more  splendid.  Not- 
withstanding the  prominence  of  the  negro  pages,  and  many 
an  attendant  beside,  his  lords  of  the  feast  are  all  the  fin- 
est gentlemen,  his  women  courtly  and  magnificent.  It  is 
the  best  of  company  that  sits  at  that  table,  whether  the  wine 
is  miraculous  or  only  the  common  juice  of  the  grape  ;  even 
should  the  elaboration  of  splendid  dress  be  less  than  that 
whicli  Titian  loves.  The  effect  is  a  more  simple  one  than 
his,  the  result  almost  more  complete.  So  might  the  walls 
of  heaven  be  painted,  the  vestibules  and  the  corridors  ; 
still  leaving,  as  poor  Florentine  Andrea  sighs  in  Mr. 
Browning's  poem,  **  four  great  walls  in  the  New  Jeru- 
salem "  for  a  higher  emulation, 

"For  Leonard,  Rafael,  AquoUo,  and  me," 

to  try  their  best  upon. 

The  fashion  of  fresco  painting  on  the  outsides  of  the 
houses  still  continued,  and  was  largely  practiced  also  by 
Paolo  Veronese:  but  let  us  hope  that  the  far  more  splendid 
internal  decoration  supplied  by  his  pictures  had  some  effect, 
along  with  the  good  sense  native  to  the  Venetians  and  their 
sound  practical  faculty,  in  putting  an  end  to  so  great  a 
waste  of  power  and  genius  as  these  outside  pictures  proved. 
They  were  already  fading  out  by  Paolo's  time,  sinking  into 
pale  shadows  of  what  they  had  been,  those  pictured  images 
with  which  Giorgione  and  young  Titian  had  made  the  ugly 
German  factory  for  a  moment  glorious  :  and  the  art  vvhich 
had  been  so  superb  in  their  hands  had  sunk  also  to  the 
execution  of  pictured  colanjiades  and  feigned  architecture, 
such  as  still  lingers  about  Italy,  not  to  any  one's  ad  vantage. 
Upon  such  things  as  these,  false  perspectives  and  fictitious 
grand  fa9ades  with  imitation  statues  in  unreal  relief,  even 
Paolo  spent  much  of  his  time,  though  he  could  do  so  much 
better.  And  thus  the  fashion  wore  itself  into  poverty  and 
decadence,  as  fashions  have  a  way  of  doing,  going  out  in 
ridicule  as  well  as  in  decay. 


316  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE, 


PART   IV. 

MEN  OF  LETTERS. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

THE   GUEST     OF   VEIS'ICE. 

Nothing  can  be  more  difficult  to  explain  than  the 
manner  in  which  the  greater  gifts  of  human  genius  are 
appropriated — to  some  regions  lavishly,  to  some  scarcely 
at  all,  notwithstanding  that  the  intellectual  qualities  of  the 
race  may  be  as  good,  possibly  indeed  may  reach  a  higher 
average  in  the  one  neglected  than  in  the  one  favored.  We 
fear  that  no  theory  that  has  ever  been  invented  will  suffice 
to  explain  why  the  great  form  of  Dante,  like  a  mountain 
shadowing  over  the  whole  peninsula,  should  have  been  given 
to  Florence,  and  nothing  to  Venice,  not  so  much  as  a 
minor  minstrel  to  celebrate  the  great  deeds  of  the  republic 
which  was  the  most  famous  and  the  greatest  of  all  Italian 
republics,  and  which  maintained  its  independence  when 
all  its  rivals  and  sisters  lost  theirs.  Petrarch,  too,  was  a 
Florentine  by  origin,  only  not  born  there  because  of  one 
of  the  accidents  of  her  turbulent  history.  Boccaccio,  the 
first  of  Italian  story-tellers,  belonged  to  the  same  wonder- 
ful city.  But  to  Venice  on  her  seas,  with  the  charm  of  a 
great  poem  in  every  variation  of  her  aspect,  with  the  har- 
monies of  the  sea  in  her  very  streets,  not  one.  We  have 
to  find  her  reflected  in  the  mild  eyes  of  a  temporary  visitor, 
in  the  learned  and  easy  yet  formal  talk  of  the  friendly 
canon,  half  French,  half  Italian,  who,  all  the  vagaries  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  317 

his  youth  over,  came,  elderly  and  famous,  and  never  without 
an  eye  to  his  own  comforts  and  interests,  to  visit  tlie  great 
mistress  of  the  seas,  taking  refuge  there,  *'  in  this  city, 
true  home  of  the  human  race/'  from  trouble  a!id  war  and 
pestilence  outside.  Tiie  picture  given  by  Dom  Francesco, 
the  great  poet,  laureate  of  all  the  world,  the  friends  of 
ki  ngs  and  princes,  is  in  some  ways  very  flattering  to  our 
city.  He  was  received  with  great  honor  there  as  every- 
where, and  found  himself  in  the  center  of  an  enlightened 
and  letter-loving  society.  But  his  residence  was  only  tem- 
porary, and,  save  Petrarch,  no  poet  of  a  high  order  has 
ever  associated  himself  with  the  life  of  Venice,  much  less 
owed  his  birth  or  breeding  to  her.  The  reader  will  not 
fail  to  recollect  another  temporary  and  recent  visitor,  whose 
traces  are  still  to  be  seen  about  Venice,  and  whose  record 
remains,  though  not  such  as  any  lover  of  poetry  would 
love  to  remember,  in  all  the  extravagance  and  ostentatious 
folly  natural  to  the  character  of  Lord  Byron  :  but  that  was 
in  the  melancholy  days  when  Venice  had  almost  ceased  to 
be.  Save  for  such  visitors  and  for  certain  humble  breath- 
ings of  the  nameless,  such  as  no  homely  village  is  entirely 
without,  great  Venice  has  no  record  in  poetry.  Her 
powerful,  vigorous,  subtle  and  imaginative  race  have  never 
learned  how  to  frame  the  softest  dialect  of  Italy,  the  most 
musical  of  tongues,  into  any  linked  sweetness  of  verse. 
The  reason  is  one  which  we  cannot  pretend  to  divine,  and 
which  no  law  of  development  or  natural  selection  seems 
capable  of  accounting  for. 

Petrarch  was  not  only  a  poet,  but  a  patriot  in  the  larger 
sense  of  the  word — a  sense  scarcely  known  in  his  day. 
Perhaps  the  circumstances  that  he  was  an  exile  from  his 
birth,  and  that  his  youth  had  been  sheltered  in  a  neighbor- 
ing country,  from  which  he  could  see  in  all  the  force  of 
perspective  the  madness  of  those  Italian  states  which  spent 
all  their  strength  in  tearing  each  other  in  pieces,  had 
elevated  him  to  that  pitch  of  enlightenment,  unknown  to 
the  fierce  inhabitants  of  Genoa,  Venice  and  Florence,  each 
determined  to  the  death  that  his  own  city  should  be  the 
first.     Petrarch  is  worthy  of  a  higher  niche  for  this  than 


318  THK  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

for  his  poetry,  a  civic  wreath  above  his  hiurel.  His  first 
appearance  in  connection  with  Venice  is  in  a  most  earnest 
and  eloquent  letter  addressed  to  his  friend  Andrea  Dandolo, 
the  first  serious  chronicler  of  Venice,  and  a  man  learned  in 
all  the  knowledge  of  the  time,  whom  the  poet,  who  proba- 
bly had  made  acquaintance  with  the  noble  Venetian  at 
learned  Padua,  or  in  some  neighboring  court  or  castle 
whither  scholars  and  wits  loved  to  resort,  addresses  with  an 
impassioned  pleading  for  peace.  One  of  the  endless  wars 
with  Genoa  was  then  beginning,  ad  Petrarch  adduces 
every  argument,  and  appeals  to  every  motive— above  all, 
''  Italian  as  I  am,"  to  the  dreadful  folly  which  drives  to 
arms  against  each  other 

"  The  two  most  powerful  peoples,  the  two  most  flourishing  cities, 
the  two  most  splendid  stars  of  Italy,  which,  to  my  judgment,  the  great 
mother  nature  has  placed  here  and  there,  posted  at  thedoorway  of  the 
Italian  race.  Italians  for  the  ruin  of  Italians  invoke  the  help  of  bar- 
barous allies,"  he  adds.  "  And  what  hope  of  aid  can  remain  to  un- 
happy Italy  when,  as  if  it  were  a  small  matter  to  see  her  sons  turn 
against  her,  she  is  overrun  also  by  strangers  called  by  them  to  help  in 
the  parricide?  " 

But  not  even  the  enlightened  Dandolo,  the  scholar-doge, 
thought  of  Italy  in  those  days,  and  though  the  poet's  protest 
does  not  seem  to  have  alienated  his  friend,  it  was  entirely 
without  avail.  Two  years  after,  in  1353,  an  embassy,  of 
which  Petrarch  was  one  of  the  principal  members,  was  sent 
from  Milan  on  the  part  of  the  Visconti  to  attempt  to 
negotiate  a  peace.  This  was  not  his  first  visit  to  Venice, 
and  it  cannot  have  been  an  agreeable  one.  One  of  the 
chroniclers  indeed  says  that  much  as  Doge  Andrea  loved  the 
poet,  and  strong  as  was  the  attraction  of  such  a  visitor  to  a 
man  of  his  tastes,  the  occasion  was  so  painful  that  he  re- 
fused to  see  Petrarch.  It  does  not  seem,  however,  that 
this  was  the  case,  for  the  poet,  in  a  subsequent  letter  to 
Dandolo,  reminds  the  doge  of  his  visit  and  its  object.  After 
two  battles — after  the  Hellespont  and  tiie  Ionian  sea  had 
twice  been  reddened  by  such  a  lake  of  blood  as  might  well 
extinguish  the  flames  of  cruel  war — ^' as  mediator  of  peace, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  319 

I  was  sent  by  our  greatest  among  great  Italians  to  you,  the 
most  wise  of  all  tiie  doges,  and  to  your  citizens.  Such  and 
so  many  tilings  I  said  in  tlie  council  over  which  you  pre- 
sided, such  and  so  many  in  your  private  rooms,  as  must 
still  remain  in  your  ears.  But  all  was  in  vain:  for  neither 
your  great  men,  nor,  what  was  more  wonderful,  yourself, 
could  be  moved  by  any  salutary  council  or  just  prayer — the 
impetuosity  of  war,  the  clamor  of  arms,  the  remains  of 
ancient  hatred  having  closed  the  way."  The  letter  in  which 
Petrarch  repeats  this  fruitless  attempt  at  mediation  was 
written  in  May,  1354,  a  year  after,  and  still  with  the  same 
object.  The  Venetians  had  been  conquerors  on  the  first 
occasion,  but  the  fortune  of  war  had  now  turned,  and  in 
September  of  the  same  year  Doge  Andrea  died,  just  before 
one  of  those  final  and  crushing  defeats  which  Venice  over 
and  over  again  had  to  submit  to  from  Genoa,  without 
ever  ceasing  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  beginning 
again. 

It  was  not,  however,  till  several  years  after  that  it  occur- 
red to  the  much-wandering  poet  to  fix  his  habitation  in 
Venice.  Tiiis  was  in  the  latter  portion  of  Petrarch's  life. 
Romance  and  Laura  had  long  departed  out  of  it.  He  was 
already  the  crowned  poet,  acknowledged  the  greatest,  and, 
save  for  an  occasional  sonnet  or  two,  cultivated  divine 
poetry  no  more.  He  was  a  person  of  ease  and  leisure, 
much  courted  by  the  most  eminent  persons  in  Europe,  ac- 
customed to  princely  tables  and  to  familiar  intercourse 
with  every  magnate  within  reacli,  accustomed,  too,  to  con- 
sider his  own  comfort  and  keep  danger  and  trouble  at  a 
distance.  Disorder  and  war  and  pestilence  drove  him  from 
one  place  to  another — from  Milan  to  Padua,  from  Padua 
to  Venice.  He  had  fulfilled  many  dignified  missions  as 
ambassador  to  various  courts,  and  he  was  not  a  man  who 
could  transfer  himself  from  one  city  to  another  with- 
out observation.  It  would  seem  that  when,  driven  by  the 
fear  of  the  plague,  and  by  the  horror  of  those  continued 
conflicts  which  were  rending  Italy  from  day  to  day — that 
Italy  which  he  was  almost  alone  in  considering  as  one 
country — he  turned  his  eyes  toward  Venice,  it  was  with 


320  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

some  intention  of  making  it  his  permanent  home:  for  the 
preliminary  negotiations  into  which  he  entered  show  a 
desire  to  establish  himself  for  which  he  does  not  seem  to 
have  taken  any  such  precautions  before.  One  of  the  best 
known  of  all  facts  in  the  history  of  literature  is  that  the 
poet  left  his  library  to  the  republic,  and  the  unworthy 
manner  in  which  tliat  precious  bequest  was  received.  But 
it  has  not  been  noted  with  equal  distinctness  that  the 
prudent  poet  made  this  gift,  not  as  a  legacy  because  of  his 
love  for  Venice,  which  is  the  light  in  which  it  has  generally 
been  regarded,  but  as  an  offer  of  eventual  advantage  in 
order  to  procure  from  the  authorities  a  fit  lodging  and 
reception  for  himself.  This,  however,  is  the  true  state  of 
the  case.  He  puts  it  forth  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  and 
agent  Benitendi,  the  chancellor  of  the  republic,  in  whose 
hands  it  would  seem  he  had  placed  his  cause.  A  certain 
plausible  and  bland  insistence  upon  the  great  benefit  to 
Venice  of  a  public  library,  of  wliich  the  poet's  books  should 
be  the  foundation,  discreetly  veils  the  important  condition 
that  the  poet^s  own  interests  should  be  served  in  the 
meantime. 

"  If  the  effort  succeeds,"  be  says,  "I  am  of  opinion  that  your 
posterity  and  your  republic  will  owe  to  you,  if  not  their  glory,  yet  at 
least  the  opening  of  the  way  to  glory.  And  oh!  "  he  adds  piously, 
"  if  it  had  but  been  thought  of  when  the  commonwealth  was  governed 
by  that  most  holy  spirit  to  whom,  as  you  who  knew  him  well  will 
understand,  it  would  have  afforded  so  much  delight.  For  my  part,  I 
do  not  doubt  that  even  in  the  heavens  he  is  glad  of  our  design,  and 
anxiously  awaits  its  success,  I  believe  also  that,  looking  down  lov- 
ingly without  a  grudge,  it  will  greatly  please  him,  having  himself 
earned  such  glory  and  honor  as  no  other  Venetian  doge  did  before 
him,  that  the  glory  of  instituting  a  public  library  should  have  been 
reserved  for  the  fourth  of  his  successors,  a  man  also  so  excellent,  a 
noble  doge  and  zealous  of  the  public  good." 

This  invocation  of  the  sainted  shade  of  Andrea  Dandolo, 
the  much  lamented  doge  to  sanctify  an  effort  the  immedi- 
ate object  of  which  was  the  acquisition  of  a  handsome 
house  for  Dom  Francesco  the  poet,  has  a  flavor  of  Tartuffe, 
or  at  least  of  Pecksniff,  which  may  make  the  reader  smile. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  321 

It  was  however  a  perfectly  legitimate  desire,  and  no  doubt 
Petrarcli's  books  were  valuable,  and  the  suggestion  of  a 
public  library  an  admirable  thing  :  and  it  was  to  the  credit 
of  the  republic  that  the  bargain  was  at  once  made,  and  the 
poet  got  his  house,  a  palace  upon  the  Riva  degli  Schiavoni 
— the  Palazzo  delle  due  Torri,  now  no  longer  in  existence, 
but  which  is  commemorated  by  an  inscription  upon  the 
house  which  replaces  it.  It  was  situated  at  the  corner  of 
the  Ponte  del  Sepolcro.  In  the  curious  illumination, 
taken  from  a  manuscript  in  the  Bodleian  Library,  which 
the  reader  will  find  at  the  head  of  a  preceding  chapter,  the 
two  towers  are  visible,  rising  from  among  the  picturesque 
roofs,  over  the  quay  from  which  the  Eastern  merchants, 
the  Poli,  are  to  be  seen  setting  out  upon  their  voyage. 

This  was  in  the  year  1362.  He  had  visited  Venice  in 
his  youth  when  a  student  at  Bologna.  He  had  returned 
in  the  fullness  of  his  fame  as  the  ambassador  of  the  prince 
of  Milan  to  negotiate  peace  with  Genoa,  though  the  at- 
tempt was  vain.  He  was  now  approaching  his  sixtieth 
year,  full  of  indignation  and  sorrow  for  the  fate  of  his 
country,  denouncing  to  earth  and  heaven  the  horrible 
bands  of  mercenaries  who  devastated  Italy,  bringing  rapine 
and  pestilence — and  for  his  own  part  intent  upon  finding  a 
peaceful  home,  security,  and  health.  His  letters  afford  us 
a  wonderfully  real  glimpse  of  the  conditions  of  the  time. 
In  one  of  them,  written  soon  after  his  settlement  in  Venice, 
to  an  old  friend,  he  defends  himself  for  having  fallen  into 
the  weakness  of  age,  the  laudator  temporis  acti.  He  re- 
views in  this  epistle  the  scenes  in  which  his  youth  and  that 
of  his  friend  were  passed,  the  peace,  the  serenity,  the  calm 
of  these  early  days,  comparing  them  with  the  universal 
tumult  and  misery  of  the  existing  time,  denying  that  the 
ciiange  was  in  himself  or  his  ideas,  and  painting  a  dismal 
picture  of  the  revolution  everywhere — the  wars,  the  bands 
of  assassins  and  robbers  let  loose  on  the  earth,  the  univer- 
sal wretchedness.  "This  same  city,"  he  adds,  "from 
which  I  write,  this  Venice  which  by  the  far-sightedness  of 
her  citizens  and  by  the  advantage  of  her  natural  position 
appears  more  powerful  aud  tranquil  than  any  other  part  of 


322  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  world,  though  quiet  and  serene,  is  no  longer  festive 
and  gay  as  she  once  was,  and  wears  an  aspect  very  different 
from  that  prosperity  and  ghidness  which  she  presented 
when  first  I  came  hither  with  my  tutor  from  Bologna." 
But  these  words  are  very  different  from  the  phrases  he  em- 
ploys in  speaking  of  other  cities.  Venice,  as  has  been  seen 
in  previous  chapters  had  trouble  enough  with  the  merce- 
nary armies  of  the  time  when  tliey  were  in  her  pay  :  but 
she  was  safe  on  ])er  sea  margin  with  the  wide  lagoons 
around  her,  unapproachable  by  the  heavy-mailed  troopers 
who  might  appea-r  any  day  under  the  walls  of  a  rich  inland 
city  and  put  her  to  sack  or  ransom.  With  all  the  force  of 
his  soul  the  poet  loathed  these  barbarous  invaders,  the  ter- 
ror of  his  life  and  the  scourge  of  Italy,  into  whose  hands 
the  Italian  states  themselves  had  placed  weapons  for  their 
own  destruction  ;  and  it  is  with  a  sense  of  intense  repose 
and  relief  that  he  settles  down  in  his  stately  house  looking 
out  upon  the  wide  harbor,  upon  San  Giorgio  among  its  trees, 
and  the  green  line  of  the  Lido,  and  all  the  winding  watery 
ways,  well  defended  by  fort  and  galley,  which  led  to  the  sea. 
The  bustle  of  the  port  under  his  windows,  the  movement  of 
the  ships,  would  seem  at  once  to  have  caught,  with  the  charm 
of  their  novelty  and  wonder,  his  observant  eyes.  Shortly 
after  his  settlement  on  the  Riva  he  wrote  a  letter  full  of 
wise  and  serious  advice  to  another  friend,  who  had  been 
appointed  secretary  to  the  pope — an  office  not  long  before 
offered  to  himself.  But  in  the  very  midst  of  his  counsels, 
quoting  Aristotle  on  the  question  of  art,  he  bursts  forth 
into  comment  upon  la  nautica,  to  which,  he  says,  ^'  after 
justice,  is  owing  to  the  wonderful  prosperity  of  this  famous 
city,  in  which,  as  in  a  tranquil  port,  I  have  taken  refuge 
from  the  storms  of  the  world.  See,"  he  cries^  "■  the  in- 
numerable vessels  which  set  forth  from  the  Italian  shore  in 
the  desolate  winter,  in  the  most  variable  and  stormy 
spring,  one  turning  its  prow  to  the  east,  the  other  to  the 
west ;  some  carrying  our  wine  to  foam  in  British  cups,  our 
fruits  to  flatter  the  palates  of  the  Scythians,  and,  still  more 
hard  of  credence,  the  wood  of  our  forests  to  the  ^gean  and 
the  Achaian  isles  \  some  to  Syria,  to  Armenia,  to  the  Ara,bs 


COURTYARD.     SIDE  CANAL. 


To  face  page 


TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  323 

and  Persians,  carrying  oil  and  linen  and  saffron,  and  bring- 
ing back  all  their  diverse  goods  to  us.'* 

' '  Let  me  persuade  you  to  pass  another  hour  in  my  company.  It  was 
the  depth  of  night  and  the  lieavens  were  full  of  storm,  and  I,  already 
weary  and  half  asleep,  had  come  to  an  end  of  my  writing,  when  sud- 
denly a  burst  of  shouts  from  the  sailors  penetrated  my  ear.  Aware  of 
what  these  shouts  should  mean  from  former  experience.  I  rose  hastily 
and  went  up  to  the  higher  windows  of  this  house,  which  look  out  upon 
the  port.  Oh,  what  a  spectacle,  mingled  with  feelings  of  pity,  of 
wonder,  of  fear,  and  of  delight !  Resting  on  their  anchors  close  to  the 
marble  banks  which  serve  as  a  mole  to  the  vast  palace  which  this  free 
and  liberal  city  has  conceded  to  me  for  my  dwelling,  several  vessels 
have  passed  the  winter,  exceeding  with  the  height  of  their  masts  and 
spars  the  two  towers  which  flank  my  house.  The  larger  of  the  two  was 
at  this  moment — though  the  stars  were  all  hidden  by  the  clouds,  the 
winds  shaking  the  walls,  and  the  roar  of  the  sea  filling  the  air— leaving 
the  quay  and  setting  out  upon  its  voyage.  Jason  and  Hercules  would 
have  been  stupefied  with  wonder,  and  Tiphys,  seated  at  the  helm, 
would  have  been  ashamed  of  the  nothing  which  won  him  so  much 
fame.  If  you  had  seen  it,  you  would  have  said  it  was  no  ship  but  a 
mountain  swimming  upon  the  sea,  although  under  the  weight  of  its 
immense  wings  a  great  part  of  it  was  hidden  in  the  waves.  The  end  of 
the  voyage  was  to  be  the  Don,  beyond  which  nothing  can  navigate  from 
our  seas  ;  but  many  of  those  who  were  on  board,  whon  they  had  reached 
that  point,  meant  to  prosecute  their  journey,  never  pausing  till  they 
had  reached  the  Ganges  or  the  Caucasus,  India  and  the  Eastern  Ocean. 
So  far  does  love  of  gain  stimulate  the  human  mind.  Pity  seized  me,  I 
confess,  for  these  unfortunates,  and  I  perceived  how  right  the  poet 
was  who  called  sailors  wretched.  And  being  able  no  longer  to  follow 
them  with  my  eyes  into  the  darkness,  with  much  emotion  I  took  up 
my  pen  again,  exclaiming  within  myslf,  'Oh,  how  dear  is  life  to  all 
men,  and  in  how  little  account  they  hold  it.' " 

It  is  evident  that  the  beginning  of  his  stay  in  Venice 
was  very  agreeable  to  the  poet.  H«  had  not  been  long 
established  in  the  palace  of  the  two  towers  when  Boccaccio, 
like  himself  seeking  refuge  from  the  plague  and  from  the 
wars,  came  to  visit  him,  and  remained  three  months,  enjoy- 
ing the  calm,  the  lovely  prospect,  the  wonderful  city,  and, 
what  was  still  more,  the  learned  society  wiiicli  Petrarch  had 
already  gathered  around  him.  The  scholars  and  the  wits 
of  those  days  were  sufficiently  few  to  be  known  to  each 
other,  and  to  form  a  very  close  and  exclusive  little  republic 


324  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

of  letters  in  every  center  of  life.  But  in  Venice  even 
these  learned  personages  owned  the  charm  of  the  locality, 
and  met  not  only  in  their  libraries  among  their  books,  or 
at  the  classic  feasts,  where  the  gossip  was  of  Cicero  and 
Cato,  of  Virgil  and  of  Ovid,  and  not  of  nearer  neighbors — 
where  every  man  had  his  classical  allusion,  his  quotations, 
his  talk  of  Helicon  and  Olympus — but  on  the  soft  and 
level  waters,  the  brimming  wide  lagoon,  like  lesser  men. 
When  Petrarch  invites  the  great  story-teller  of  Florence  to 
renew  his  visit,  he  reminds  him  of  those  '*  elect  friends" 
with  whom  he  had  already  made  acquaintance,  and  how  the 
dignified  Benintendi,  though  devoted  to  public  business  all 
day,  yet  in  the  falling  of  the  evening,  with  light-hearted 
and  fi'iendly  countenance,  would  come  in  his  gondola  to 
refresh  liimself  with  pleasant  talk  from  the  fatigues  of  the 
day.  ^^  You  know  by  experience,"  he  says,  "  how  delight- 
ful were  those  nocturnal  rambles  on  the  sea,  and  that  con- 
versation enlightened  and  sincere."  To  think  of  Boccaccio 
stepping  forth  with  Petrarch  upon  the  Riva,  taking  a  boat 
in  those  soft  summer  nights,  in  sul  far  delta  sera,  in  the 
making  of  the  evening,  when  the  swift  shadows  fell  across 
the  glimmering  distance,  and  the  curves  of  the  lagoon 
caught  the  first  touches  of  the  moonlight,  comes  upon  us 
with  a  delightful  contrast,  yet  likeness  to  the  scenes  more 
associated  with  their  names.  The  fountain  of  Vaucluse 
and  Laura's  radiant  image,  the  gardens  and  glades  of  the 
**  Decameron,"  with  all  their  youths  and  maidens,  were  less 
suitable  now  to  the  elderly  poets  than  that  talk  of  all 
things  in  earth  and  heaven,  which  in  the  dusk,  upon  the 
glistening  levels  of  the  still  water,  two  friendly  gondolas, 
softly  gliding  on  in  time,  would  pass  from  one  to  another 
in  interchanges  sometimes  pensive,  sometimes  playful,  in 
gentle  arguments  long  drawn  out,  and  that  mutual  com- 
parison of  the  facts  of  life  and  deductions  from  them  which 
form  the  conversation  of  old  men.  There  were  younger 
companions  too,  like  that  youth  of  Ravenna  of  whom 
Petrarch  writes,  "  whom  you  do  not  know,  but  who  knows 
you  well,  having  seen  you  in  this  house  of  mine,  which, 
like  all  that  belongs  to  me,  is  yours,  and,  according  to  the 


THK  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  325 

use  of  youth,  watched  you  daily,"  who  would  join  the  poets 
in  their  evening  row,  and  hang  about  the  gondola  of  the 
great  men  to  catch  perhaps  some  word  of  wisdom,  some 
classical  comparison  ;  while,  less  reverential,  yet  not  with- 
out a  respectful  curiosity,  the  other  boats  that  skimmed 
across  the  lagoon  would  pause  a  minute  to  point  out,  the 
lover  to  his  lady,  the  gondolier  to  his  master,  the  smooth 
and  urbane  looks  of  him  who  had  been  crowned  at  Rome 
the  greatest  of  living  poets,  and  the  Florentine  at  his  side, 
the  romancer  of  his  age — two  such  men  as  could  not  be 
equaled  anywhere,  the  guests  of  Venice.  No  doubt 
neither  lute  nor  song  were  wanting  to  chime  in  with  the 
tinkle  of  the  wave  upon  the  boats  and  the  measured  pulsa- 
tion of  the  oars.  And  as  they  pushed  forth  upon  the 
lagoon,  blue  against  the  latest  yellow  of  the  sunset  would 
rise  the  separate  cones  and  peaks  of  the  Euganeans, 
among  which  lay  little  Arqua,  still  unnoted,  where  the 
laureate  of  the  world  was  to  leave  his  name  forever.  The 
grave  discussions  of  that  moment  to  come,  of  the  sunset  of 
life,  and  how  each  man  endured  or  took  a  pensive  pleasure 
in  its  falling  shadows,  would  be  dismissed  with  a  smile  as 
the  silvery /erro  glided  slowly  round  like  a  swan  upon  the 
water,  and  the  pleased  companions  turned  to  where  the  two 
towers  rose  over  the  bustling  Riva,  and  the  lighted  windows 
shone,  and  the  table  was  spread.  '*  Vienidunque  invocato," 
says  the  poet  as  he  recalls  these  delights  to  the  minds  of  his 
friend.  '*  The  gentle  season  invites  to  where  no  other  cares 
await  you  but  those  pleasant  and  joyful  occupations  of  the 
muses,  to  a  house  most  healthful,  which  I  do  not  describe 
because  you  know  it."  It  is  strange,  however,  to  remember 
that  these  thoughtful  old  men  in  the  reflective  leisure  of 
their  waning  years  are  the  lover  of  Laura  and  the  author 
of  the  **  Decameron." 

On  another  occasion  the  poet  puts  before  us  a  picture  of 
a  different  character,  but  also  full  of  interest.  It  is  on  the 
4th  of  June,  1364,  a  memorable  day,  and  he  is  seated  at  his 
window  with  a  friend,  looking  out  over  the  ampio  mare,  the 
full  sea  which  spreads  before  him.  The  friend  was  one  of 
his  oldest  and  dearest  companions,  his  schoolfellow,  and 


326  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

the  comrade  of  his  entire  life,  now  archbishop  of  Patras, 
and  on  his  way  to  his  see,  but  pausing  to  spend  the  summer 
in  that  most  healthful  of  houses  with  the  happy  poet. 
The  two  old  friends,  newly  met,  sat  together  looking  out 
upon  that  lively  and  brilliant  scene  as  they  talked  and  ex- 
changed remembrances,  when  their  conversation  was  dis- 
turbed by  a  startling  incident. 

"  Suddenly  and  without  warning  there  rose  upon  our  sight  one  of 
those  long  vessels  which  are  called  galleys,  crowned  with  green 
branches,  and  with  all  the  force  of  its  rowers  making  for  the  port.  At 
this  unexpected  sight  we  broke  off  our  conversation,  and  felt  a  hope 
springing  in  our  hearts  that  such  a  ship  must  be  the  bearer  of  good 
news.  As  the  swelling  sails  drew  near  the  joyful  aspect  of  the  sailors 
became  visible,  and  a  handful  of  young  men,  also  crowned  with  green 
leaves  and  with  joyous  countenances,  standing  on  the  prow,  waving 
flags  over  their  heads,  and  saluting  the  victorious  city  as  yet  unaware 
of  her  own  triumph.  Already  from  the  highest  tower  the  approach 
of  a  strange  ship  had  been  signaled,  and  not  by  any  command,  but 
moved  by  the  most  eager  curiosity,  tllfe  citizens  from  every  part  of  the 
town  rushed  together  in  a  crowd  to  the  shore.  And  as  the  ship  came 
nearer  and  everything  could  be  seen  distinctly,  hanging  from  the  poop 
we  perceived  the  flag  of  the  onemy,  and  there  remained  no  doubt  that 
this  was  to  announce  a  victory." 

A  victory  it  was,  one  of  the  greatest  which  had  been 
gained  by  Venetian  arms,  the  re-capture  of  Candia  (Crete) 
with  little  bloodshed  and  great  glory  to  the  republic — 
though  it  is  somewhat  difficult  to  understand  Petrarch's 
grand  assumption  that  it  was  the  triumph  of  justice  more 
than  of  Venice  which  intoxicated  the  city  with  delight.  He 
rises  into  esctatic  strains  as  he  describes  the  rejoicings  of 
the  triumphant  state. 

"What  finer,  what  more  magnificent  spectacle  could  be  than  the 
just  joy  which  fills  a  city,  not  for  damage  done  to  the  enemy's  posses- 
sions or  for  the  gains  of  civic  rivalry  such  as  are  prized  elsewhere,  but 
solely  for  the  triumph  of  justice?  Venice  exults;  the  august  city,  the 
sole  shelter  in  our  days  of  liberty,  justice,  and  peace,  the  sole  refuge 
of  the  good,  the  only  port  in  which,  beaten  down  everywhere  else  by 
tyranny  and  war,  the  ships  of  those  men  who  seek  to  lead  a  tranquil 
life  may  find  safety  and  restoration;  a  city  rich  in  gold  but  more  rich 
in  fame,  potent  in  strength  but  more  in  virtue,  founded  upon  solid 
marble,  but  upon  yet  more  solid  foundations  of  concord  and  harmony — 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  327 

and,  even  more  than  by  the  sea  which  girds  her,  by  the  prudent  wis 
dom  of  her  sons  defended  and  made  secure  Venice  exults,  not  only 
over  the  regained  sovereignity  of  Crete,  which,  howsoever  great  in 
antique  splendor,  is  but  a  small  matter  to  great  spirits  accustomed  to 
esteem  lightly  all  that  is  not  virtue:  but  she  exults  in  the  event  with 
good  reason,  and  takes  pleasure  in  the  thought  that  the  right  is  vic- 
torious— that  is  to  say,  not  her  proper  cause  alone,  but  that  of 
justice." 

It  is  clear  from  this  that  the  triumph  in  the  air  had  got 
into  the  poet's  head,  and  the  great  contagion  of  popular 
enthusiasm  had  carried  him  away.  He  proceeds  to  relate, 
as  well  as  "  the  poverty  of  my  style  and  my  many  occupa- 
tions" will  permit,  the  joyful  progress  of  the  thanksgivings 
and  national  rejoicing. 

"  When  the  orators  landed  and  recounted  everything  to  the  Great 
Council,  every  hope  and  anticipation  were  found  to  fall  short  of  the 
truth;  the  enemy  had  been  overcome,  taken,  cut  to  pieces,  dispersed 
in  hopeless  flight:  the  citizens  restored  to  freedom,  the  city  subdued; 
Crete  brought  again  under  the  ancient  dominion,  the  victorious  arms 
laid  down,  the  war  finished  almost  without  bloodshed,  and  glory  and 
peace  secured  at  one  blow.  When  all  these  things  were  made  known 
to  the  Doge  Lorenzo,  to  whose  greatness  his  surname  of  Celso*  agrees 
perfectly,  a  man  distinguished  for  magnanimity,  for  courtesy,  and 
every  fine  virtue,  but  still  more  for  piety  toward  God  and  love  for  his 
country — well  perceiving  that  nothing  is  good  but  that  which  begins 
with  heaven,  he  resolved  with  all  the  people  to  render  praise  and 
homage  to  God;  and  accordingly,  with  magnificent  rites  through  all 
the  city,  but  specially  in  the  basilica  of  San  Marco  Evangelista,  than 
which  I  know  nothing  in  the  world  more  beautiful,  were  celebrated 
the  most  solemn  thanksgivings  which  have  ever  taken  place  within 
the  memory  of  man;  and  around  the  temple  and  in  the  piazza  a  mag- 
nificent procession,  in  which  not  only  the  people  and  all  the  clergy, 
but  many  prelates  from  foreign  parts,  brought  here  by  curiosity,  or 
the  great  occasion,  or  the  proclamation  far  and  near  of  these  great 
ceremonies  took  part.  When  these  demonstrations  of  religion  and 
piety  were  completed,  every  soul  turned  to  games  and  rejoicings." 

Our  poet  continues  at  length  the  record  of  these  festivi- 
ties, especially  of  those  with  which  the  great  festival  ter- 
minated, two  exercises  of  which  he  cannot,  he  says,  give 
the  Latin  name,  but  which  in  Italian  are  called,  one  corstty 
a  race,  the  oi\iQv  giostra,  a  tournament.     In  the  first  of 

*Eccelso,  excellent. 


328  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

these,  which  would  seem  to  have  been  something  like  the 
ancient  riding  at  the  ring,  no  strangers  were  allowed  to 
compete,  but  only  twenty-four  Venetian  youths  of  noble 
race  and  magnificently  clad,  under  the  direction  of  a 
famous  actor,  Bombasio  by  name  (from  whence  we  believe 
**  Bombast"),  who  arranged  their  line  in  so  delightful  a 
manner  that  one  would  have  said  it  was  not  men  who  rode 
but  angels  who  flew,  ''so  wonderful  was  it  to  see  these 
young  men,  arrayed  in  purple  and  gold,  with  bridle  and 
spurs,  restraining  at  once  and  exciting  their  generous 
steeds,  which  blazed  also  in  the  sun  with  the  rich  orna- 
ments with  which  their  harness  was  covered."  This  noble 
sight  the  poet  witnessed  in  bland  content  and  satisfaction, 
seated  at  the  right  hand  of  the  doge,  upon  a  splendid  bal- 
cony shaded  with  rich  and  many-tinted  awnings,  which  had 
been  erected  over  the  front  of  San  Marco  behind  the  four 
bronze  horses.  Fortunate  poet,  thus  throned  on  high  to 
the  admiration  of  all  the  beholders,  who  crowded  every 
window  and  roof  and  portico,  and  wherever  human  foot- 
ing was  to  be  found,  and  filled  every  corner  of  the  piazza 
so  that  there  was  not  room  for  a  grain  of  millet — an  ''  in- 
credible, innumerable  crowd,"  among  which  was  no  tumult 
or  disorder  of  any  kind,  nothing  but  joy,  courtesy,  har- 
mony, and  love.  It  is  curious  to  note  that  among  the 
audience  were  certain  ''very  noble  English  personages,  in 
office  and  kindred  near  to  the  king  of  England,"  who 
"  taking  pleasure  in  wandering  on  the  vast  sea,"  faithful 
to  the  instincts  of  their  race,  had  been  attracted  by  the 
news  of  these  great  rejoicings.  Among  all  the  splendors 
of  Venice  there  is  none  which  is  more  attractive  to  the 
imagination  than  this  grand  tourney  in  the  great  piazza, 
at  which  the  mild  and  learned  poet  in  his  black  hood  and 
gown,  half  clerical  and  always  courtly,  accustomed  to  the 
best  of  company,  sat  by  the  side  of  the  doge  in  his  gold- 
embroidered  mantel,  with  all  that  was  fairest  in  Venice 
around,  and  gazed  well  pleased  upon  the  spectacle,  not 
without  a  soothing  sense  that  he  himself  in  the  ages  to  come 
would  seem  amid  all  the  purple  and  gold  the  most  notable 
presence  there. 


THE  MAKERS  OP  VENICE.  329 

In  the  year  13G6,  when  Petrarch  had  been  established  for 
about  four  years  in  Venice,  an  incident  of  a  very  different 
kind  occurred  to  disturb  liis  peace,  and  did,  according  to  all 
the  commentaries,  so  seriously  disturb  it,  and  offend  the  poet 
so  deeply,  that  when  he  next  left  the  city  it  was  to  return 
no  more.  Among  the  stream  of  visitors  received  by  him 
with  his  usual  bland  courtesy  in  the  place  of  the  two 
towers,  were  certain  young  men  whom  the  prevailing 
fashion  of  the  time  had  banded  together  in  a  pretense  of 
learning  and  superiorenlightenment,  not  uncommon  to  any 
generation  of  those  youthful  heroes  whose  only  wish  it 
is  that  their  fathers  were  more  wise.  Four  in  particular, 
who  were  specially  given  to  the  study  of  such  Greek 
philosophy  as  came  to  them  broken  by  translators  into 
fragments  fit  for  their  capacity,  had  been  among  the  visitors 
of  the  poet.  Deeply  affronted  as  Petrarch  was  by  the 
occurrence  which  followed,  he  was  yet  too  magnanimous  to 
give  their  names  to  any  of  his  correspondents  :  but  he 
describes  them  so  as  to  have  made  it  possible  for  commen- 
tators to  hazard  a  guess  as  to  who  they  were.  '*They  are 
all  rich,  and  all  studious  by  profession,  devouring  books, 
nothwithstanding  that  the  first  knows  nothing  of  letters  : 
the  second  little  :  the  third  not  much:  the  fourth,  it  is  true, 
has  no  small  knowledge,  but  has  it  confusedly  and  without 
order."  The  first  was  a  soldier,  the  second  a  merchant 
(simplex  mercator),  the  third  a  noble  [simplex  nobilis),  the 
forth  a  physician.  A  mere  noble,  a  mere  merchant — 
significant  words!  a  soldier,  and  one  who  probably  led 
them  with  his  superior  science  and  information,  the  only 
one  who  had  the  least  claim  to  be  called  a  philosopher,  the 
young  professional  to  whom  no  doubt  those  wouM  be 
learned  giovinastri  looked  up  as  to  a  shining  light.  They 
were  disciples  of  Averrhoes — or  most  likely  it  was  the 
young  physician  who  was  so,  and  whose  re-interpretation 
charmed  the  young  men  :  and  by  consequence,  in  that  dawn 
of  the  Renaissance,  they  were  all  infidels,  believers  in 
Aristotle  and  nothing  else.  Petrarch  himself  narrates 
with  much  naivete  the  method  he  en:ployed  with  one  of 
these  irreverent  and  disdainful  youths.     The  poet  in  his 


330  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

argument  with  the  young  unbeliever,  had  quoted  from  the 
New  Testament  a  saying  of  an  apostle. 

"  *  Your  apostle,*  he  replied,  'was  a  mere  sower  of  words,  and  more 
than  that,  was  mad.'  '  Bravo! '  said  I,  '  oh,  philosopher.  These  two 
things  have  been  laid  to  the  charge  of  other  philosophers  in  ancient 
times  ;  and  of  the  second  Festus,  the  governor  of  Syria,  accused  him 
whom  I  quote.  But  if  he  was  a  sower  of  words,  the  words  were  very 
useful,  and  the  seed  sown  by  him,  and  cultivated  by  his  successors  and 
watered  by  the  holy  blood  of  martyrs,  has  grown  into  the  great 
mass  of  believers  whom  we  now  see,'  At  these  words  he  smiled, 
and  '  Be  you,  if  you  like  it,  a  good  Christian,'  he  said:  '  I  don't  be- 
lieve a  word  of  all  that:  and  your  Paul  and  Augustine  and  all  the  rest 
whom  you  vaunt  so  much,  I  hold  them  no  better  than  a  pack  of  gos- 
sips. Oh,  if  you  would  but  read  AverrhoesI  then  you  would  see  how 
much  superior  he  is  to  your  fable-mongers.'  I  confess  that,  burning 
with  indignation,  it  was  with  difficulty  that  I  kept  my  hands  off 
that  blasphemer.  'This  contest  with  heretics  like  you,'  I  said,  'is 
an  old  affair  for  me.  Go  to  the  devil,  you  and  your  heresy,  and 
come  no  more  here.'  And  taking  him  by  the  mantle  with  less 
courtesy  than  is  usual  to  me,  but  not  less  than  his  manners  deserved, 
I  put  him  to  the  door." 

This  summary  method  of  dealing  with  the  young  skeptic 
is  not  without  its  uses,  and  many  a  serious  man  wearied 
with  the  folly  of  youthful  preachers  of  the  philosophy 
fashionable  in  our  day,  which  is  not  of  Aristotle  or  Aver- 
rhoes,  might  be  pardoned  for  a  longing  to  follow  Petrarch's 
example.  Perhaps  it  was  the  young  man  described  as 
simplex  nobilis  who,  indignant,  being  thus  turned  out, 
hurried  to  his  comrades  with  the  tale  :  upon  which  they 
immediately  formed  themselves  into  a  bed  of  justice, 
weighed  Petrarch  in  the  balance,  and  found  him  wanting. 
*' A  good  man,  but  ignorant, '^  was  their  sentence  after  full 
discussion — dahhen  iiomo,  ma  ignorante.  The  mild  yet 
persistent  rage  with  which  the  poet  heard  of  this  verdict, 
magnanimous,  restraining  himself  from  holding  up  the 
giovinastri  to  the  contempt  of  the  world,  yet  deeply  and 
bitterly  wounded  by  their  boyish  folly,  is  very  curious.  The 
effect  produced  upon  Lord  Tennyson  and  Mr.  Browning  at 
the  present  day  by  the  decision  of  a  tribunal  made  up  of, 
let  us  say,  a  young  guardsman,  a  little  lord,  a  millionaire's 
heir,  led  by  some  young  professional  writer  or  scientific 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VKNIGR.  331 

authority,  would  be  very  different.  The  poets  and  the  world 
would  laugh  to  all  the  echoes,  and  the  giovinastri  would 
achieve  a  reputation  such  as  they  would  little  desire.  But 
the  use  of  laughter  had  not  been  discovered  in  Petrarch's 
days,  and  a  poet  crowned  in  the  capitol,  laureate  of  the 
universe,  conscious  of  being  the  first  man  of  letters  in  the 
world,  naturally  did  not  treat  these  matters  so  lightly.  He 
talks  of  them  in  his  letters  with  an  offended  dignity  which 
verges  upon  the  comic.  "Four  youths,  blind  in  the  eyes 
of  the  mind,  men  who  consider  themselves  able  to  judge 
of  ignorance  as  being  themselves  most  ignorant — si  tengo7io 
competenti  a  giicdicare  della  ignoranza  perche  son  essi  igno- 
rantissiwi — attempting  to  rob  me  of  my  fame,  since  they 
well  know  that  they  can  never  hope  for  fame  in  their  own 
persons,"  he  says  :  and  at  last,  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
offense,  Venice  herself,  the  hospitable  and  friendly  city, 
of  which  he  had  lately  spoken  as  the  peaceful  haven  and 
refuge  of  the  human  spirit,  falls  under  the  same  reproach. 
In  every  part  of  the  world,  he  says,  such  a  sentence  would 
be  received  witli  condemnation  and  scorn:  "except  per- 
haps in  the  city  where  it  was  given  forth,  a  city  truly  great 
and  noble,  but  inhabited  by  so  great  and  so  varied  a  crowd 
that  many  tlierein  take  men  without  knowledge  forjudges 
and  philosophers."  And  when  the  heats  of  summer  came, 
sending  him  forth  on  the  round  of  visits  wliich  seems  to 
have  been  as  necessary  to  Petrarch  as  if  he  had  lived  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  the  offended  poet  did  not  return  to 
Venice.  When  his  visits  were  over  he  withdrew  to  Arqua, 
on  the  soft  skirts  of  the  Euganean  hills,  where  all  was 
rural  peace  and  quiet,  and  no  presumptuous  giovhiastri 
could  trouble  him  more. 

This  incident  however  would  seem  to  point  to  an  ele- 
ment of  tumult  and  trouble  in  Venice,  to  which  republics 
seem  more  dangerously  exposed  than  other  states.  It  was 
the  insults  of  the  giovinastriy  insolent  and  unmannerly 
youths,  which  drove  Marino  Faliero  to  his  doom  not  very 
many  years  before.  And  Petrarch  himself  implores  Andrea 
Dandolo,  the  predecessor  of  that  unfortunate  doge,  to  take 
counsel  with   the  old  men  of  experience,  not   with   hot- 


332  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

headed  boys,  in  respect  to  the  Genoese  wars.  The  youths 
would  seem  to  have  been  in  the  ascendant,  idle — for  it  was 
about  this  period  that  wise  men  began  to  lament  the  aban- 
donment at  once  of  traditional  trade  and  of  the  accom- 
panying warlike  spirit  among  the  young  patricians,  who 
went  to  sea  no  more,  and  left  fighting  to  the  mercenaries 
— and  luxurious,  spending  their  time  in  intrigues  on  the 
Broglio  and  elsewhere,  and  taking  upon  them  those  arro- 
gant airs  which  make  aristocracy  detestable.  A  Dandolo 
and  a  Contarini  are  in  the  list  (supposed  to  be  authentic) 
of  Petrarch's  assailants,  and  no  doubt  the  support  of  fath- 
ers in  the  Forty  or  the  Ten  would  embolden  these  idle 
youths  for  every  folly.  Their  foolish  verdict  would  by  this 
means  cut  deeper,  and  Petrarch,  like  the  old  doge,  was  now 
sonless,  and  had  the  less  patience  to  support  the  insolence 
of  other  people's  boys.  He  retired  accordingly  from  the 
ignoble  strife,  and  on  his  travels,  as  he  says,  having  noth- 
ing else  to  do,  on  the  banks  of  the  Po,  began  his  treatise 
on  *nhe  ignorance  of  himself  and  many  others" — de  sui 
ijjsius  et  multoruvi  ignorantia,  which  was,  let  us  hope,  a 
final  balsam  to  the  sting  which  the  giovinastri,  unmannerly 
and  presumptuous  lads,  had  left  in  his  sensitive  mind. 

The  books  which  he  had  offered  to  the  republic  as  the 
foundation  of  a  public  library  were  left  behind,  first  in  the 
hands  of  a  friend,  afterward  in  the  charge  of  the  state. 
But  Venice  at  that  time  had  other  things  to  do  than  to 
think  of  books,  and  these  precious  manuscripts  were  placed 
in  a  small  chamber  on  the  terrace  of  San  Marco,  near  the 
four  great  horses  of  the  portico — and  there  forgotten. 
Half  a  century  later  the  idea  of  the  public  library  revived  : 
and  this  was  confirmed  by  the  legacy  made  by  Cardinal 
Bessarione  of  all  his  manuscripts  in  1468 — a  hundred  years 
after  the  gift  of  Petrarch  ;  but  nearly  two  centuries  more 
had  passed,  and  the  splendid  Biblioteca  de  San  Marco  had 
come  into  being,  a  noble  building  and  a  fine  collection, 
before  it  occurred  to  some  stray  citizens  and  scholars  to  in- 
quire where  the  poet's  gift  might  be.  Finally,  in  1634,  the 
little  room  Avas  opened,  and  there  was  discovered — a  mass 
of  damp  decay,  as  they  had  been   thrown  in  nearly  three 


TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  333 

centuries  before  —  the  precious  parchments,  the  books 
which  Petrarch  had  collecteu  so  carefully,  and  which  he 
thought  worthy  to  be  the  nucleus  of  a  great  public  library. 
Some  few  were  extracted  from  the  mass  of  corruption,  and 
at  last  were  placed  where  the  poet  had  intended  them  to 
be.  But  this  neglect  will  always  remain  a  shame  to  Venice. 
Perhaps  at  first  the  giovinastri  had  something  to  do  with 
it,  tlirowing  into  contempt  as  of  little  importance  the  gift 
of  the  poet — a  suggestion  which  has  been  made  with  more 
gravity  by  a  .'ecent  librarian,  who  points  out  that  the  most 
valuable  of  Petrarch's  books  remained  in  his  possession 
until  his  death,  and  were  sold  and  dispersed  at  Padua 
after  that  event.  So  that  it  is  possible,  though  the  sug- 
gestion is  somewhat  ungenerous,  that  after  all  the  loss  to 
humanity  was  not  so  very  great.  At  all  events  there  is 
this  to  be  said,  that  Petrarch  did  not  lose  by  his  bargain, 
though  Venice  did.  The  poet  got  the  dignified  estab- 
lishment he  wanted — a  vast  palace,  as  he  himself  de- 
scribes it,  in  which  he  had  room  to  receive  his  friends  and 
from  which  he  could  witness  all  the  varied  life  of  Venice. 
He  had  not,  we  think,  any  great  reason  to  complain — he 
had  received  his  equivalent.  His  hosts  were  the  losers  by 
their  own  neglect,  but  not  the  poet. 

It  was  but  a  short  episode  in  his  learned  and  leisurely  and 
highly  successful  life  ;  but  it  is  the  only  poetical  associa- 
tion we  have  with  Venice.  He  shows  us  something  of  the 
cultured  society  of  the  time,  with  its  advantages  and  its 
drawbacks,  a  society  more  "precious"  than  original,  full 
of  commentaries  and  criticisms,  loving  conversation  and 
mutual  comparison  and  classical  allusion,  not  so  gay  as  the 
painters  of  an  after  age,  with  less  inclination  to  suonar  il 
liuto,  or  indeed  introduce  anything  which  could  interfere 
with  that  talk  which  was  the  most  beloved  of  all  entertain- 
ments. Boccaccio,  one  cannot  but  feel,  must  have  brought 
something  livelier  and  more  gay  with  him  when  he  was 
one  of  those  who  sat  at  the  high  windows  of  the  Palazzo 
delle  due  Torri  and  looked  out  upon  all  the  traffic  of  the 
port,  and  the  ships  going  out  to  sea.  But  the  antecham- 
bers of  the  poet  were  always  crowded  as  if  he  had  been  a 


334  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

prince,  the  doge  ever  ready  to  do  him  honor,  and  all  the 
great  persons  deeply  respectful  of  Dom  Francesco,  though 
the  young  ones  might  scoff,  not  witliout  a  smile  aside  from 
their  fathers,  at  the  bland  laureate's  conviction  of  his  own 
greatness. 

No  other  poet  has  ever  illustrated  Venice.  Dante  passed 
tlirough  the  great  city  and  did  not  love  her,  if  his  sup- 
posed letter  on  the  subject  is  real — at  all  events  brought  no 
image  out  of  her  except  that  of  the  pitch  boiling  in  the 
arsenal,  and  the  seamen  repairing  their  storm-beaten  ships. 
Nameless  poets  no  doubt  there  were  whose  songs  the  mari- 
ners bellowed  along  the  Riva,  and  the  maidens  sang  at  their 
work.  The  following  anonymous  reiic  is  so  pure  and  ten- 
der that,  though  far  below  the  level  of  a  laureated  poet,  it 
may  serve  to  throw  a  little  fragrance  upon  the  name  of 
poetry  in  Venice,  so  little  practiced  and  so  imperfectly 
known.  It  is  the  lament  of  a  wife  for  her  husband  gone 
to  the  wars — alia  Crociata  in  Oriente — a  humble  Crusader- 
seaman  no  doubt,  one  of  those  perhaps  who  followed  old 
Enrico  Dandolo,  with  the  cross  on  his  rough  cap,  ignorant 
of  all  the  wiles  of  statesmanship,  while  his  wife  waited 
wistfully  through  many  months  and  years. 

"Donna  Frisa,  in  your  way, 
You  give  me  good  advice,  to  lay 
By  this  grieving  out  of  measure, 
Saying  to  see  me  is  no  pleasure. 
Since  my  liusband,  gone  to  war. 
Carried  my  heart  with  him  afar; 
But  since  he's  gone  beyond  the  sea 
This  alone  must  comfort  me. 
I  have  no  fear  of  growing  old, 
For  hope  sustains  and  makes  me  bold 
While  I  think  upon  my  lord: 
In  him  is  all  my  comfort  stored. 
No  other  bearing  takes  my  eye, 
In  him  does  all  my  pleasure  lie; 
Nor  can  I  think  him  far,  while  he 
Ever  in  love  is  near  to  me. 
Lone  in  my  room,  my  eyes  are  dim, 
Only  from  fear  of  harm  to  him. 
Nought  else  I  fear,  and  hope  is  strong 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  335 

He  will  come  back  to  me  anon; 

And  all  my  plaints  to  gladness  rise, 

And  into  songs  are  turned  my  sighs, 

Thinking  of  that  good  man  of  mine; 

No  more  I  wish  to  make  me  fine, 

Or  look  into  the  glass,  or  be 

Fair,  since  he  is  not  here  to  see. 

In  my  chamber  alone  I  sit, 

The  festa  may  pass,  I  care  not  for  it, 

Nor  to  gossip  upon  the  stairs  outside, 

Nor  from  the  window  to  look,  nor  glide 

Out  on  the  balcony,  save  't  may  be 

To  gaze  afar,  across  the  sea, 

Praying  that  God  would  guard  my  lord 

In  Paganesse,  sending  His  word 

To  give  the  Christians  the  victory, 

And  home  in  health  and  prosperity 

To  bring  him  back,  and  with  him  all 

In  joy  and  peace  perpetual. 


•  When  I  make  this  prayer  I  know 
All  my  heart  goes  with  it  so 
That  something  worthy  is  in  me 
My  lord's  return  full  soon  to  see. 
All  other  comforts  I  resign. 
Your  way  is  good,  but  better  mine. 
And  firm  I  hold  this  faith  alone: 
The  women  hear  me,  but  never  one 
Contradicts  my  certitude. 
For  I  hold  it  seemly  and  good, 
And  that  to  be  true  and  faithful 
To  a  good  woman  is  natural; 
Considering  her  husband  still, 
All  his  wishes  to  fulfill, 
And  with  him  to  be  always  glad, 
And  in  his  presence  never  sad. 

"  Thus  should  there  be  between  the  two 
No  thought  but  how  pleasure  to  do. 
She  to  him  and  he  to  her, 
This  their  rivalry:  nor  e'er 
Listen  to  any  ill  apart. 
But  of  one  mind  be,  and  one  heart. 
He  ever  willing  what  she  wills, 
She  what  his  pleasure  most  fulfills. 


336  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE, 

Witli  never  quarrel  or  despite, 

But  peace  between  tliem  morning  and  night. 

This  makes  a  goodly  jealousy 

To  excel  in  love  and  constancy. 

And  thus  is  the  pilgrim  served  aright, 

From  eve  to  morn,  from  day  to  night." 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  337 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE     HISTORIANS. 

The  first  development  of  native  literature  in  Venice, 
and  indeed  the  only  one  which  attained  any  greatness,  was 
history.  Before  ever  poet  had  sung  or  preacher  dis- 
coursed, in  the  early  days  when  the  republic  was  struggling 
into  existence,  there  liad  already  risen  in  the  newly-founded 
community  and  among  the  houses  scarcely  yet  to  be  counted 
noble,  but  whicii  had  begun  to  sway  the  minds  of  the 
fishers  and  traders  and  salt-manufacturers  of  the  marshes, 
annalists  whose  desire  it  was  to  chronicle  the  doings  of  that 
infant  state,  struggling  into  existence  amid  the  fogs,  of 
which  they  were  already  so  proud.  Of  these  nameless  his- 
torians the  greater  number  have  dropped  into  complete 
oblivion;  but  they  have  furnished  materials  to  many  suc- 
cessors, and  in  some  cases  their  works  still  exist  in  codexes 
known  to  the  learned,  affording  still  their  quota  of  informa- 
tion, sometimes  mingled  with  fable,  yet  retaining  here  and 
there  a  vigorous  force  of  life  which  late  writers  more  cor- 
rect find  it  hard  to  put  into  the  most  polished  records. 
To  all  of  these  Venice  was  already  the  object  of  all  desire, 
the  center  of  all  ambition.  Her  beauty,  the  splendor  of 
her  rising  palaces,  the  glory  of  her  churches,  is  their  subject 
from  the  beginning;  though  still  the  foundations  were  not 
laid  of  that  splendor  and  glory  which  has  proved  the 
enchantment  of  later  ages.  This  city  was  the  joy  of  the 
whole  earth,  a  wonder  and  witchery  to  Sagornino  in  the 
eleventh  century  as  much  as  to  Molmenti  in  the  nineteenth; 
and  before  the  dawn  of  serious  history,  as  well  as  with  all 
the  aid  of  state  documents  and  critical  principles  in  her 
maturity,  the  story  of  Venice  has  been  the  great  attraction 


338  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

to  her  children,  the  one  theme  of  which  no  Venetian  can 
ever  tire.  It  would  be  out  of  our  scope  to  give  any  list  of 
these  early  writers.  Their  name  is  legion — and  any  reader 
who  can  venture  to  lanch  himself  upon  the  learned,  but 
chaotic,  work  of  the  most  serene  Doge  Marco  Foscarini 
upon  Venetian  literature,  will  find  himself  hustled  on  every 
page  by  a  pale  crowd  of  half  perceptible  figures  in  every 
department  of  historical  research.  The  laws,  the  church, 
the  trade  of  Venice,  her  money,  her  ceremonials  and  usages, 
the  speeches  of  her  orators,  her  treaties  with  foreign 
powers,  her  industries — in  all  of  these  by-ways  of  the  history 
are  crowds  of  busy  workers,  each  contriouting  his  part  to 
that  one  central  object  of  all — the  glory  and  the  history  of 
the  city,  which  was  to  every  man  the  chief  object  in  the 
world. 

It  was,  however,  only  in  the  time  of  Andrea  Dandolo,  the 
first  man  of  letters  who  occupied  the  doge^s  chair,  the 
friend  of  Petrarch  and  of  all  the  learned  of  his  time,  that 
the  artless  chronicles  of  the  early  ages  were  consolidated 
into  history.  Of  Andrea  himself  we  have  but  little  to  tell. 
His  own  appearance  is  dim  in  the  far  distance,  only  coming 
fairly  within  our  vision  in  those  letters  of  Petrarch  already 
quoted,  in  which  the  learned  and  cultivated  scholar  prince 
proves  himself,  in  spite  of  every  exhortation  and  appeal,  a 
Venetian  before  all,  putting  aside  the  humanities  in  which 
he  was  so  successful  a  student,  and  the  larger  sympathies 
which  letters  and  philosophy  ought  to  bring — with  a 
sudden  frown  over  the  countenance  which  regarded  with 
friendly  appreciation  all  the  other  communications  of  the 
poet  until  he  permitted  himself  to  speak  of  peace  with 
Genoa,  and  to  plead  that  an  end  might  be  put  to  those 
bloody  and  fratricidal  wars  which  devastated  Italy.  Dan- 
dolo, with  all  his  enlightenment  was  not  sufficiently 
enlightened  to  see  this,  or  to  be  able  to  free  himself  from 
the  prejudices  and  native  hostilities  uf  his  state.  He 
thought  the  war  with  Genoa  just  and  necessary,  while 
Petrarch  wrung  his  hands  over  the  woes  of  a  country  torn 
in  pieces;  and  instead  of  responding  to  the  ideal  picture  of 
a  common  prosperity  such  as  the  two  great  maritime  rivals 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  339 

might  enjoy  together,  fltimed  fortli  in  wrath  at  thethouglit 
even  of  a  triumph  which  should  be  shared  witli  that  most 
intimate  enemy.  Tlie  greater  part  of  his  reign  was  spent 
in  tlie  exertions  necessary  to  keep  up  one  of  tliese  disastrous 
wars,  and  he  died  in  the  midst  of  defeat,  with  nothing  but 
ill  news  of  his  armatas,  and  Genoese  galleys  in  the  Adriatic, 
pushing  forward,  perhaps,  who  could  tell?  to  Venice  her- 
self. "The  republic  within  and  without  was  threatened 
with  great  dangers,"  says  Sabellico,  at  the  moment  of  his 
death,  and  he  was  succeeded  by  the  ill-fated  Faliero,  to 
show  how  distracted  was  the  state  at  this  dark  period. 
Troubles  of  all  kinds  had  distinguished  the  reign  of  the 
learned  Andrea.  Earthquakes,  for  which  the  philosophers 
sought  strange  explanations,  such  as  that  they  were  caused 
by  "a  spirit,  bound  and  imprisoned  underground,"  which, 
with  loud  noises,  and  often  with  fire  and  flame,  escaped  by 
the  openings  and  caverns;  and  pestilence,  which  Sabellico 
believes  to  have  been  caused  by  certain  fish  driven  up  along 
the  coast.  Notwithstanding  all  these  troubles,  Dandolo 
found  time  and  leisure  to  add  a  sixth  volume  to  the  collec- 
tions of  laws  already  made,  and  to  compile  his  history — a 
dignified  and  scrupulous,  if  somewhat  brief  and  formal, 
narrative  of  the  lives  and  acts  of  his  predecessors  in  the 
ducal  chair.  The  former  writers  had  left  each  his  frag- 
ment, Sagornino,  for  instance,  dwellingchiefly  upon  Venice 
under  the  reign  of  tlie  Orseoli,  to  the  extent  of  his  personal 
experiences.  Dandolo  was  the  first  to  weave  these  broken 
strands  into  one  continuous  thread.  He  had  not  only  the 
early  chronicles  within  his  reach,  but  the  papers  of  the 
state  and  those  of  his  own  family,  which  had  already 
furnished  three  doges  to  the  republic,  and  thus  was  in  every 
way  qualified  for  his  work.  It  is  remarkable  to  note 
through  all  the  conflicts  of  the  time,  through  the  treacher- 
ous stillness  before  the  earthquake  and  the  horrified 
clamor  after,  through  the  fierce  exultation  of  victory  and 
the  dismal  gloom  of  defeat,  and  amid  all  those  troubled 
ways  where  pestilence  and  misery  had  set  up  their  abode, 
this  philosopher — doctor  of  laws,  the  first  who  ever  sat  upon 
that  throne — the  scholar  and  patron  of  letters,  distracted 


340  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

with  all  the  cares  of  his  uneasy  sway,  yet  going  on  day  by 
day  with  his  literary  labors,  laying  the  foundation  firm 
for  his  countrymen,  upon  which  so  many  have  built.  How 
Petrarch's  importunities  about  these  dogs  of  Genoese,  per- 
petual enemies  of  the  republic,  as  if,  forsooth,  they  were 
brothers  and  Christian  men!  must  have  fretted  him  in  the 
midst  of  his  studies.  What  did  a  poet  priest,  a  classical 
half-French  man  of  peace,  know  about  such  matters?  The 
same  language!  Who  dared  to  compare  the  harsh  dialect 
these  wretches  jabbered  among  themselves  with  the  liquid 
Venetian  speech?  The  same  country!  As  far  different  as 
east  from  west.  They  were  no  brethren,  but  born  enemies 
of  Venice  never  to  be  reconciled;  and  in  this  faith  the 
enlightened  doge^  the  philosopher  and  sage,  reigned  and 
died. 

After  Dandolo  there  seems  to  have  been  silence  for  about 
half  a  century,  though  no  period  was  without  its  essays  in 
history:  a  noble  patrician  here  and  there,  a  monk  in  his 
leisure,  an  old  soldier  after  his  wars  were  over,  making 
each  his  personal  contribution,  to  lie  for  the  greater  part 
unnoted  in  the  archives  of  liis  family  or  order.  But  about 
the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century  there  rose  a  faint 
agitation  among  the  more  learned  Venetians  as  to  the  ex- 
pediency of  compiling  a  general  history  upon  the  most 
authentic  manuscripts  and  records,  which  should  be  given 
forth  to  the  world  with  authority  as  the  true  and  trust- 
worthy history  of  Venice.  There  was  perhaps  no  one  suf- 
ficiently in  earnest  to  press  the  matter,  nor  had  they  any 
writer  ready  to  take  up  the  work.  But  no  doubt  it  was  an 
excellent  subject  on  which  to  debate  when  they  met  each 
other  in  the  public  places  whither  patricians  resorted,  and 
where  the  wits  had  their  encounters.  Oh,  for  a  historian 
to  write  that  great  book  !  The  noble  philosophers  them- 
selves were  too  busy  with  their  legislations,  or  their  pageants 
or  their  classical  studies,  to  undertake  it  themselves,  and 
it  was  difficult  to  find  any  one  sufficiently  well  qualified  to 
fill  the  office  which  it  was  their  intention  should  be  that  of 
a  public  servant  encouraged  and  paid  by  the  state.  During 
the  next  half  century  there  were  a  great  many  negotiations 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  341 

begun,  but  never  brought  to  any  definite  conclusion,  with 
sundry  professors  of  literature,  especially  one  Biondo,  who 
had  already  written  much  on  the  subject.  But  none  of 
them  came  to  any  practical  issue.  Tlie  century  had  reached 
its  last  quarter,  when  the  matter  was  summarily  and  by  a 
personal  impulse  taken  out  of  the  noble  dilettanti's  hands. 
Marco  Antonio  Sabellico,  a  native  of  Vicovaro,  among  the 
Sabine  hills,  and  one  of  the  most  learned  men  and  best 
Latinists  of  his  day,  had  been  drawn  to  Venice  probably 
by  the  same  motives  which  drew  Petrarch  thither  :  the 
freedom  of  its  society,  the  hospitality  with  which  strangers 
were  received,  and  the  eager  welcome  given  by  a  race  am- 
bitious of  every  distinction,  but  not  great  in  the  sphere  of 
letters,  to  all  who  brought  with  them  something  of  that 
envied  fame.  How  it  was  that  he  was  seized  by  the  desire 
to  write  a  history  of  Venice,  which  was  not  his  own 
country,  we  are  not  told.  But  it  is  very  likely  that  he 
was  one  of  these  men  of  whom  there  are  examples  in  every 
generation,  for  whom  Venice  has  an  especial  charm,  and 
who,  like  the  occasional  love- thrall  of  a  famous  beauty, 
give  up  their  lives  to  her  praise  and  service,  hoping  for 
nothing  in  return.  He  might,  on  the  other  hand,  be  noth- 
ing more  than  an  enterprising  author,  aware  that  the 
patrons  of  literature  in  Venice  were  moving  heaven  and 
earth  to  have  a  history,  and  taking  advantage  of  their 
desire  with  a  rapidity  and  unexpectedness  which  would 
forestall  every  other  attempt.  He  was  at  the  time  in  Verona 
in  the  suite  of  the  captain  of  that  city,  Benedetto  Trivi- 
giano,  out  of  reach  of  public  documents,  and  naturally  of 
many  sources  of  information  which  would  have  been  thrown 
open  to  an  authorized  historian.  He  himself  speaks  of  the 
work  of  Andrea  Dandolo  as  of  a  book  which  he  had  heard 
of  but  never  seen,  though  it  seems  incredible  that  any  man 
should  take  in  hand  a  history  of  Venice  without  making 
himself  acquainted  with  the  only  authoritative  work  exist- 
ing on  the  subject.  Neither  had  he  seen  the  book  of  Jacopo 
Zeno,  upon  the  work  and  exploits  of  his  grandfather  Carlo 
which  is  the  chief  authority  in  respect  to  so  important  an 
episode  as  the  war  of  Chioggia.     And  he  wrote  so  rapidly 


342  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

that  tlie  work  was  completed  in  fifteen  months,  "  by  reason 
of  his  impatience,"  says  Marco  Foscarini.  Notwithstand- 
ing these  many  drawbacks,  Sabellico's  liistory  remains 
among  the  most  influential,  as  it  is  the  most  eloquent,  of 
Venetian  histories.  It  is  seldom  that  a  historian  escapes 
without  conviction  of  error  in  one  part  or  another  of  his 
work,  and  Sabellico  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  The 
learned  of  the  time  threw  themselves  npon  liim  with  all 
the  heat  of  critics  who  have  never  committed  themselves 
by  serious  production  in  their  own  persons.  Tliey  accused 
him  of  founding  his  book  upon  the  narratives  of  the  in- 
ferior annalists,  and  neglecting  the  good — of  transcribing 
from  contemporaries,  and  above  all  of  haste,  an  accusation 
which  it  is  impossible  to  deny.  '^  But,"  says  Foscarini, 
**  the  thirst  for  a  general  history  was  such  that  either  these 
faults  were  not  discovered,  or  else  by  reason  of  the  unusual 
accompaniment  of  eloquence,  to  whicli  as  to  a  new  thing, 
the  attention  of  all  was  directed,  they  passed  unobserved." 
The  eager  multitude  took  up  tlie  book  with  enthusiasm, 
although  the  critics  objected  :  and  tliough  Sabellico  was  in 
no  manner  a  servant  of  the  state,  and  had  never  had  the 
office  of  historian  confided  to  him,  ''  the  senate  perceiving 
the  general  approval,  and  having  I'ather  regard  to  its 
own  greatness  tlian  to  the  real  value  of  the  work,  settled 
upon  the  writer  two  hundred  gold  ducats  yearly,  merely  on 
the  score  of  gracious  recompense."  Tiiis  altogether  dis- 
poses, as  Foscarini  points  out,  of  the  spiteful  imputation  of 
'*a  venal  pen,"  which  one  of  his  contemporaries  attributed 
to  Sabellico  :  but  at  the  same  time  he  is  careful  to  guard 
his  readers  from  the  error  of  supposing  that  the  historian 
had  the  privileges  and  position  of  a  functionary  chosen  by 
the  state. 

The  learned  doge  is  indeed  very  anxious  that  there  should 
be  no  mistake  on  this  point,  nor  any  undue  praise  appropri- 
ated to  the  first  historian  of  Venice.  All  foreign  historians, 
he  says,  take  him  as  the  chief  authority  on  Venice,  and  quote 
him  continually;  not  only  so,  but  the  writers  \vho  imme- 
diately succeeded  him  did  little  more  than  repeat  what  he 
had  said,  and  the  most  learned  among  them  had  no  thought 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  343 

of  any  purgation  of  his  narrative,  but  only  to  add  various 
particulars,  in  the  main  following  Sabellico,  for  which  rea- 
son they  are  to  be  excused  who  believe  tiuit  they  find  in  him 
the  very  flower  of  ancient  Venetian  history:  but  yet  he 
cannot  be  justly  so  considered.  Foscarini  cites  various 
errors  in  the  complicated  history  of  the  Crusades,  respecting 
which  it  is  allowed,  however,  that  the  ancient  Venetian 
records  contain  very  little  information:  and  such  mistakes 
as  that  on  a  certain  occasion  Sabellico  relates  an  expedition 
as  made  with  the  whole  of  the  armata,  while  Dandolo  fixes 
the  number  at  thirty  galleys — not  a  very  important  error. 
When  all  has  been  said,  however,  there  is  little  doubt  that 
as  a  general  history  full  in  all  the  more  interesting  details, 
and  giving  a  most  lifelike  and  grapiiic  picture  of  the  course 
of  Venetian  affairs,  with  all  the  embassies,  royal  visits, 
rebellions,  orations,  sorrows,  and  festivities  that  took  place 
within  the  city,  together  with  those  events  more  difficult  to 
master  that  were  going  on  outside,  the  history  of  Sabellico 
is  the  one  most  attractive  and  interesting  to  the  reader,  and 
on  all  general  events  quite  trustworthy.  The  original  is  in 
Latin,  but  it  was  put  into  the  vulgar  tongue  within  a  few 
years  after  its  publication,  and  was  afterward  more 
worthily  translated  by  Dolce  in  a  version  which  contains 
much  of  the  force  and  eloquence  of  the  original. 

After  this  another  long  interval  elapsed  in  which  many 
patrician  writers,  one  after  another,  whose  names  and  works 
are  all  recorded  by  Foscarini,  made  essays  less  or  more 
important,  without,  however,  gaining  the  honorable  position 
of  historian  of  the  republic  :  until  at  last  the  project  for 
establishing  such  an  office  was  taken  up  in  the  beginning  of 
the  sixteenth  century  for  the  benefit  of  a  young  scholar, 
noble  but  poor,  Andrea  Navagero.  He  was  the  most 
elegant  Latin  writer  in  Italy,  Foscarini  says  :  indeed,  the 
great  Council  of  Ten  themselves  have  put  their  noble  hands 
to  it  that  this  was  the  case.  '*  His  style  was  such  as,  by 
agreement  of  all  the  learned,  had  not  its  equal  in  Italy  or 
out  of  it,"  is  the  latiguage  of  the  decree  by  which  his 
appointment  was  made.  Being  without  means  he  was 
about  to  leave  Venice  to  push  his  fortune  elsewhere  by  his 


344  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

talents,  ''  depriving  the  conntry  of  so  great  an  ornament " 
— a  conclusion  '^  not  to  be  tolerated."  To  prevent  such  an 
imputation  upon  the  state,  the  Council  felt  themselves 
bound  to  interfere,  and  appointed  Navagero  their  historian, 
to  begin  over  again  that  authentic  and  authorized  history 
which  Sabellico  had  executed  without  authority.  The 
chances  probably  are  that  the  young  and  accomplished 
scholar  had  friends  enough  at  court  to  make  a  strong  effort 
for  him,  to  liberate  him  from  the  alarming  possibility,  so 
doubly  sad  for  a  Venetian,  of  being  '^confined  within  the 
boundaries  of  private  life" — and  that  the  authorities  of  the 
state  bethought  themselves  suddenly  of  a  feasible  way  of 
providing  for  him  by  giving  him  this  long  thought  of  but 
never  occupied  post.  They  were  no  great  judges  of  litera- 
ture, more  especially  of  Latin,  their  own  being  of  the  most 
atrocious  description,  but  tl)ey  were  susceptible  to  the 
possible  shame  of  allowing  a  scholar  who  might  be  a  credit 
to  the  republic  to  leave  Venice  in  search  of  a  living. 

Young  Navagero  thus  entered  the  first  upon  the  post  of 
historian  of  Venice,  which  he  held  for  many  years  without 
producing  anything  to  justify  the  Council  in  their  choice. 
It  was  probably  intended  only  as  a  means  of  providing  for 
him  pending  his  introduction  into  public  life:  for  we  find  a 
number  of  years  after  a  letter  from  Bembo  congratulating 
him  on  his  appointment  as  ambassador  to  Spain,  *^  the  first 
thing  which  you  have  ever  asked  from  the  country,"  and 
prohesying  great  things  to  follow.  He  was  appointed 
historian  in  1515,  but  it  is  not  till  fifteen  years  after  that 
we  hear  anything  of  his  history,  and  that  in  the  most 
tragical  way.  In  1530  he  was  sent  on  an  embassy  to 
France,  and  carried  there  with  him  cei'tain  manuscripts, 
the -fruit  of  the  intervening  years — ten  books,  it  is  said,  of 
the  proposed  story  of  Venice.  But  he  had  not  been  long  in 
Paris  when  he  fell  ill  and  died.  And  shortly  before  his 
death — on  the  very  day,  one  writer  informs  us — he  threw 
his  papers  into  the  fire  with  his  own  hands  and  destroyed 
the  whole.  Whether  this  arose  from  dissatisfaction  with 
his  work,  or  whether  it  was  done  in  the  delirium  of  mortal 
sickness,  no  one  could  tell.     Foscarini  quotes  from  an  un- 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  345 

published  letter  of  Cardinal  Valicro  some  remarks  upon  this 
unfortunate  writer,  in  which  he  is  described  as  one  who  was 
never  satisfied  with  moderate  approval  from  others,  and 
still  less  capable  of  })leasing  himself.  This  brief  and  tragic 
episode  suggests  ev  en  more  than  it  tells.  Noble,  ambitious, 
and  poor,  probably  of  an  uneasy  and  fastidious  mind — for 
he  is  said  on  a  previous  occasion  to  have  burned  a  number 
of  his  early  productions  in  disgust  and  discouragement — the 
despondency  of  sickness  mast  have  overwhelmed  a  sensitive 
nature.  The  office  to  which  he  had  been  pi'omoted  was 
still  in  the  visionary  stage:  the  greatest  things  were  expected 
of  the  new  historian  of  the  republic,  a  work  superseding  all 
previous  attempts.  Sabellico,  who  had  gone  over  the  same 
ground  in  choicest  Latin,  was  still  fresh  in  men^s  minds; 
and,  still  more  alarming,  another  Venetian,  older  and  of 
greater  weight  than  liimself,  Marino  Sanudo,  one  of  the 
most  astonishing  and  gifted  of  historical  moles,  was  going 
on  day  by  day  with  those  elaborate  records  which  are  the 
wonder  of  posterity,  building  up  the  endless  story  of  the 
republic  with  details  innumerable — a  mine  of  material  for 
other  workers,  if  too  abundant  and  minute  for  actual 
history.  Ser  Andrea  was  no  doubt  well  aware  of  the  keen 
inspection,  the  criticism  sharpened  by  a  sense  that  this 
young  fellow  had  been  put  over  the  heads  of  older  men, 
whicli  would  await  his  work;  and  his  own  taste  had  all  the 
fastidious  refinement  of  a  scholar,  more  critical  than  con- 
fident. When  he  found  himself  in  a  strange  country, 
though  not  as  an  exile  but  with  the  high  commission  of  the 
republic — sick,  little  hopeful  of  ever  seeing  the  beloved  city 
again,  his  heart  must  have  failed  him  altogether.  These 
elaborate  pages,  how  poor  they  are  Jipt  to  look  in  the  cold 
light  darkened  by  the  shadow  of  the  grave  !  He  would 
think  perhaps  of  the  formidable  academy  in  the  Aldine 
workshops  shaking  their  heads  over  his  work,  picking  out 
inaccuracies — fin<ling  perhaps,  a  danger  more  appalling  still 
to  every  classical  mind,  something  here  and  there  not 
Ciceronian  in  his  Latin.  Nothing  could  be  more  tragic, 
yet  there  is  a  lingering  touch  of  the  ludicrous  too,  so  seldom 
entirely   absent  from  human  affairs.      To  tremble  lest  a 


346  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

solecism  should  be  discovered  in  his  style  when  the  solem- 
nity of  death  was  already  enveloping  his  being!  llather 
finish  all  at  one  stroke,  flinging  with  liis  feverish  dying 
liands  the  work  never  corrected  enough,  among  the  blazing 
logs,  and  be  done  with  it  forever.  Aiiiid  all  the  artificial 
fervor  of  Renaissance  scholarship  and  the  learned  chatter 
of  the  libraries,  what  a  tragic  and  melancholy  S3ene! 

The  critics  are  careful  to  indicate  that  tliis  is  not  the 
same  Andrea  Navagero  who  wrote  the  chronicle  bearing 
that  name,  and  whose  work  is  of  the  most  commonplace 
description.  It  is  confusing  to  find  the  two  so  near  in  time, 
and  with  nothing  to  identify  the  second  bearer  of  the  name 
except  that  he  writes  in  indifferent  Italian  (Venetian),  and 
not  in  classic  Latin,  and  tliat  his  book  was  given  to  tlie 
public  while  the  other  Andrea,  lo  Storico,  was  still  only  a 
boy.  The  only  productions  of  the  historian  so  called, 
though  nothing  of  his  history  survives,  seem  to  have  been 
certain  Latin  verses  of  more  or  less  elegance. 

A  very  much  more  important  personage  in  his  time,  as 
in  the  value  of  the  extraor  linary  collections  he  left  behind 
him,  was  the  diarist  and  historian  already  referred  to, 
Marino  Sanudo.  He  too,  we  may  remark  in  passing,  is 
apt  to  be  confused  with  an  elder  writer  of  the  same  name, 
Marino  Sanudo,  called  Torsello,  who  wrote  on  the  subject 
of  the  Crusades,  and  on  many  other  matters  more  exclu- 
sively Venetian,  something  like  a  hundred  and  fifty  years 
before,  in  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century.  The 
younger  Sanudo  (or  Sanuto)  was  born  in  1466,  of  one  of 
the  most  noble  houses  in  Venice,  and  educated  in  all  the 
erudition  of  his  time.  He  was  of  such  a  precocious  genius 
that  between  his  eleventh  and  fourteenth  years  he  cor- 
responded witli  the  most  eminent  scholars  of  the  day,  and 
gave  the  highest  hopes  of  future  greatness.  Even  in  that 
early  age  the  dominant  passion  of  his  life  had  made  itself 
apparent,  and  he  seems  already  to  have  begun  the  collection 
of  documents  and  the  record  of  daily  public  events.  At 
the  age  of  eight  it  would  appear  the  precocious  historian 
had  already  copied  out  with  his  own  small  hand  the  fading 
inscriptions  made  by  Petrarch  under  the  series  of  pictures. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  347 

anticcliissimiy  the  first  of  all  painted  in  the  hall  of  the 
Great  Council.  Sannclo  himself  announces  that  he  did 
this,  thougli  without  mentioning  his  age  :  but  tlie  anxious 
care  of  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  so  well  known  among  the 
English  students  and  adorers  of  Venice,  points  out  that 
these  pictures  were  restored  and  had  begun  to  be  repainted 
in  1474,  during  the  cliildhood  of  his  hero.  Tiiere  could 
be  nothing  more  characteristic  and  natural,  considering  the 
after  life  of  the  man,  than  this  youthful  incident,  and  it 
adds  an  interest  the  more  to  the  hall  in  whicii  so  often  in 
latter  days  our  historian  mounted  the  tribune,  ill  renga,  as 
he  calls  it,  and  addressed  the  assembled  parliament  of 
Venice — to  call  before  ns  the  small  figure,  tablets  in  hand, 
liis  childish  eyes  already  sparkling  with  observation,  and 
that  historical  curiosity  which  was  the  inspiration  of  his 
life— copying  before  they  should  altogether  perish  the 
inscriptions  nnder  the  old  pictures  which  told  the  half- 
fabulous  triumphant  tale  of  Barbarossa  beaten  and  Venice 
viotrice.  The  colors  were  no  doubt  fading,  flakes  of  the 
old  distemper  peeling  olf  and  a  general  ruin  threatened, 
before  the  senate  saw  it  necessary  to  renew  that  historical 
chronicle.  When  we  remember  Sanudo's  humorous,  only 
half-believing  note  on  the  subject  years  after,  **  that  if  the 
story  had  not  been  true  our  brave  Venetians  would  not 
have  had  it  painted,"  it  gives  a  still  more  delightful  glow 
of  smiling  interest  to  the  image  of  the  little  Marino,  no 
doubt  with  unwavering  faith  in  his  small  bosom  and 
enthusiasm  for  his  city,  taking  down,  to  the  awe  of  many 
an  unlearned  contemporary,  the  failing  legends  written  by 
the  great  poet,  a  record  at  once  of  the  ancient  glories  of 
Venice  and  of  her  illustrious  guest. 

He  was  seventeen,  however,  and  eager  in  all  the  exercises 
of  a  Venetian  gentleman  when  he  went  with  his  elder 
cousin  Marco  Sanudo,  who  had  been  appointed  one  of  the 
auditors  or  syndics  of  Terra-firma,  to  Padua  in  the  spring 
of  1483.  The  brilliant  cavalcade  rode  from  Fusina  by  the 
banks  of  the  Brenta,  then  as  now  a  line  of  villas,  castellos, 
hospitable  houses,  where  they  were  received  with  great 
honor  and  pomp — and  visited  everything  that  was  remark- 


348  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

able  ill  the  city.  Visto  tiiUo,  is  the  youtli's  record  wherever 
he  went  :  and  there  can  indeed  be  no  doubt  that  in  all  his 
journeys  the  young  Marino  saw  and  noted  everything — the 
circumstances  of  the  locality,  the  scenery,  the  historical 
occurrences — all  that  is  involved  in  the  external  aspect  of 
a  place  wliich  had  associations  both  classical  and  contem- 
porary. The  characteristics  of  his  time  are  very  apparent 
in  all  his  keen  remarks  and  inspections.  He  is  told,  he 
says,  that  Padua  has  many  bodies  of  the  saints,  and  in  this 
respect  is  second  only  to  Kome — but  the  only  sacred  relic 
in  which  he  is  specially  interested  in  thecorjoo  e  vero  osse  of 
Livy,  to  which  he  refers  several  times,  giving  the  epitapli 
of  the  classical  historian  at  full  length.  Strangely  enough, 
at  an  age  when  the  art  of  painting  was  growing  to  its 
greatest  development  in  Venice,  no  curiosity  seems  to  have 
been  in  the  young  man's  curious  mind,  nor  even  any  knowl- 
edge of  the  fact  that  the  chapel  of  the  Arena  had  been 
adorned  by  the  great  work  of  a  certain  Giotto,  though 
that  is  the  chief  object  now  of  the  pilgrim  who  goes  to 
Padua.  That  beautiful  chapel  must  have  been  in  its  full- 
est glory  of  color  and  noble  art;  but  there  is  no  evidence 
that  our  cavalier  liad  so  much  as  heard  of  it,  though  he 
spies  every  scrap  of  marble  on  the  old  bridges,  and  care- 
fully quotes  epigrams  and  verses  about  the  city,  and  records 
every  trifling  circumstance.  *^  The  markets  are  Tuesday, 
Thursday,  and  Friday. '^  *'  There  are  forty  parish  churches, 
and  four  hospitals,"  etc.,  etc.,-  but  not  a  word  of  the  then 
most  famous  pictures  in  the  world. 

This  is  the  ^'Itinerario  in  Terra-firma,"  which  is  the  first 
of  the  young  author's  works.  It  is  full  of  the  sprightly 
impulses  of  a  boy,  and  of  a  boy's  pleasure  in  movement,  in 
novelty,  in  endless  rides  and  expeditions,  tempered  by  now 
and  then  a  day  in  which  the  syndic  data  audientia,  per 
toto  eljorno,  his  young  cousin  sitting  no  doubt  by  his  side 
more  grave  than  any  judge,  to  hide  the  laugh  always  lurk- 
ing at  the  corners  of  his  mouth:  data  Icnigna  audie7itia, 
he  says  on  one  occasion,  perhaps  on  one  of  those  May  days 
when  he  rode  off  with  a  cavalcade  of  his  friends  through 
that  green  abundant  country   to   the   village   or   castello 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  349 

where  lived  the  queen  of  his  affections,  ''  that  oriental 
jewel  (Gemma),  that  lovely  face  which  I  seem  to  have 
always  before  me,  inspiring  me  with  many  songs  for  my 
love."  **Ohme!  Oh  me!"  he  cries  in  half-humorous 
distraction,  "  I  am  going  mad!  Let  me  go  and  sing  more 
than  ever.  Long  before  this  I  ought  to  have  been  in  love. 
Fain  would  I  sing  of  the  goddess,  my  bright  Gemma, 
whose  lovely  countenance  I  ever  adore,  and  who  has  made 
me  with  much  fear  her  constant  servant."  Gemma  shines 
out  suddenly  like  a  star  only  in  this  one  page  of  the 
**  Itinerario."  Perhaps  he  exhausted  his  boyish  passion  in 
constant  rides  to  Rodigio  or  Ruigo,  where  the  lady  lived, 
and  in  his  songs,  of  whicli  the  specimens  given  are  not 
remarkable.  But  the  sentiment  is  full  of  delight- 
ful youthful  extravagance:  and  the  aspect  of  the 
young  man  gravely  noting  everything  by  the  instinct  of 
his  nature,  galloping  forth  among  his  comrades — one  of 
whom  he  calls  Pylades — some  half-dozen  of  them,  a  young 
Cornaro,  a  Pisani,  the  bluest  blood  in  Venice — scouring 
the  country,  to  see  the  churches,  the  castles  and  palaces, 
and  everything  that  was  to  be  seen,  and  Gemma  above  all, 
mingles  with  charming  ease  and  inconsistency  the  dawn- 
ing statesman,  the  born  chronicler,  the  gallant  boyish 
lover.  Sometimes  the  cavalcade  counted  forty  horsemen, 
sometimes  only  three  or  four.  The  "  Itinerario "  is  a 
mass  of  information,  full  of  details  which  Professor  R. 
Fulin,  its  latest  editor,  considers  well  worth  the  while  of 
the  patriotic  Venetian  of  to-day.  "  To  compare  our 
provinces  at  four  centuries*  distance  with  their  present 
state  is  certainly  curious,  and  without  doubt  useful  also," 
he  says — but  the  glimpses  between  the  lines  of  that 
sprightly  youthful  company  is  to  us  who  are  less  seriously 
concerned,  still  more  interesting.  **  We  have  before  our 
eyes,"  adds  the  learned  professor,  **a  boy — but  a  boy  who 
begins  to  bear  very  worthily  the  name  of  Marino  Sanudo." 
It  somewhat  disturbs  all  Marino's  commentators,  however, 
that,  though  his  education  had  been  so  good  and  classical 
references  abound  in  his  writings,  yet  his  style  is  never  so 
elevated  as  his    culture.     It    is    indeed    very    disjointed, 


350  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

entirely  unstudied,  prolix,  though  full  of  an  honest  sim- 
plicity and  straightforwardness  which  perhaps  commends 
itself  more  to  the  English  taste  than  to  the  Italian.  In 
his  after  life  Sanudo's  power  of  production  seemed  indeed 
endless.  Besides  his  published  works,  he  left  behind  him 
fifty-six  volumes  of  his  diary,  chiefly  of  public  events,  a 
record  day  by  day  of  all  the  news  that  came  to  Venice,  and 
all  that  happened  there.  It  was  by  the  loving  care  of  thj 
Englishman  already  referred  to,  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  a 
kindred  spirit,  that  portions  of  those  wonderful  diaries 
were  first  given  to  the  world.  They  are  now  in  course  of 
publication,  a  mass  of  minute  and  inexhaustible  informa- 
tion, from  the  first  aspect  of  which  I  confess  to  have 
shrunk  appalled.  This  sea  of  facts,  of  picturesque  inci- 
dents, of  an  "eyewitness'  sketches,  and  the  reports  of  an 
immediate  actor  in  the  scenes  described — affords  to  the 
careful  student  an  almost  unexampled  guide,  and  assistance 
to  the  understanding  of  the  years  between  1482  and  1533, 
from  Sanudo's  youth  to  the  end  of  his  life. 

The  ^'Vitae  Ducum,^'from  which  we  have  already  quoted 
largely,  is  full  of  the  defects  of  style  which  were  peculiar 
to  this  voluminous  writer:  they  are  charged  with  repetitions 
and  written  without  regard  to  any  rules  of  composition  or 
prejudices  of  style — but  their  descriptions  are  often  exceed- 
ingly picturesque  in  unadorned  simplicity,  and  the  reflec- 
tions of  popular  belief  and  the  report  of  the  moment  give 
often,  as  the  reader  will  observe  on  turning  back  to  our 
earlier  chapters,  an  idea  of  the  manner  in  which  an  inci- 
dent struck  the  contemporary  mind  which  is  exceedingly 
instructive,  even  though  as  often  happens,  it  cannot  be 
supported  by  documents  or  historical  proof.  To  my  think- 
ing it  is  at  least  quite  as  interesting  to  know  what  account 
was  given  among  the  people  of  a  great  event,  and  how  it 
shaped  itself  in  the  general  mind,  as  to  understand  the  form 
it  takes  in  the  archives  of  the  country  when  it  has  fallen 
into  perspective  and  into  the  inevitable  subordination  of 
individual  facts  to  the  broader  views  of  history.  At  the 
same  time  Sanudo's  story,  while  keeping  this  popular  char- 
acter, is  supported  by   the  citation  of  innumerable  public 


CLOISTEBS  OF  S.  GREGORIO. 


To  face  page  350. 


TJIK  MAKEllS  OF  VENICE.  351 

documents  to  wliich  lie  had  access  in  his  cliaracter  of  poli- 
tician and  magistrate :  so  that  the  essentially  different 
characteristics  of  the  legendary  and  the  documentary  his- 
tory are  combined  in  this  loosely  written,  quaintly  ex- 
pressed, most  real  and  interesting  chronicle.  The  work  is 
said  to  have  been  composed  by  Sanudo  between  his  eight- 
eenth and  his  twenty-seventh  year.  The  garrulous  tone 
and  rambling  narrative  are  more  like  an  old  man  than  a 
young  one  :  but  it  is  evident  that  the  instinct  of  the  chroii- 
icier,  the  minute  and  constant  observation,  the  ears  open 
and  eyes  intent  upon  everything  small  and  great  which 
could  be  discussed,  with  a  certain  absence  of  discrimina- 
tion between  the  important  and  the  unimportant  which  is 
the  characteristic  defect  of  these  great  qualities,  was  in 
him  from  the  beginning  of  his  career. 

The  great  painter,  Aldus,  dedicated  one  of  his  publica- 
tions to  Sanudo  in  the  year  1498,  when  our  Marino  was 
but  thirty-two — in  which  already  mention  is  made  of  com- 
pleted works  of  the  '^MagistratusUrbisVenetae,''  the  **Vitis 
Pr  incipium,"  and  the  'Mle  Bello  Gallico,"  all  then  ready 
for  publication  *'both  in  Latin  and  the  vulgar  tongue,  that 
they  may  be  read  by  learned  and  unlearned  alike."  From 
this  it  is  apparent  that  Sanudo  had  also  already  begun  his 
wonderful  diaries,  the  collection  of  his  great  library,  and 
the  public  life  which  would  seem  in  its  many  activities  in- 
compatible with  these  ceaseless  toils.  He  followed  all  these 
pursuits,  however,  through  the  rest  of  his  life.  His  diaries 
became  the  greatest  storehouses  of  minute  information 
perhaps  existing  in  the  world  :  his  library  was  the  wonder 
of  all  visitors  to  Venice:  and  the  record  of  his  own  acts  and 
occupations  chronicled  along  with  everything  else  in  his 
daily  story  of  the  life  of  the  city,  shows  a  perpetual  activ- 
ity which  takes  away  the  beholder's  breath.  His  speeches 
in  the  senate,  generally  recorded  as  '*  lo  Marin  Sanudo 
contradixi,"  were  numberless.  He  was  employed  in  all 
kinds  of  public  missions  and  work.  He  was  in  succession 
a  Signore  di  Notte,  a  Savio  degli  Ordini,  one  of  the  Pre- 
gadi,  one  of  the  Zonta,  a  member  of  the  senate,  Avvoga- 
dore :  exercising  tl;e  functions  of   magistrate,  member  of 


352  THBJ  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

parliament,statesman — and  taking  a  part  in  all  great  discuss- 
ions upon  state  affairs  whether  in  the  senate  or  in  the  Great 
Council.  He  was,  as  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  using  the  terms 
natural  to  an  Englishman,  describes,  almost  always  in 
opposition — '^  contradicting,"  to  use  his  own  expression  ; 
and  for  this  reason  was  less  fortunate  than  many  obscure 
persons  whose  only  record  is  in  his  work.  Again  and 
again  he  has  to  tell  us  that  tlie  votes  are  given  against  him, 
tliat  he  comes  out  last  in  the  ballot,  that  for  a  time  he  is 
no  longer  of  the  senate,  and  excluded  from  public  office. 
But  he  never  loses  heart  nor  withdraws  from  the  lists. 
*^/o  Marino  Samiclo  e  di  la  Zonta,''  he  describes  himself, 
always  proud  of  his  position  and  eager  to  retain,  or  recover 
it  when  lost.  A  man  of  such  endless  industry,  activity  of 
mind  and  actions,  universal  interest  and  intelligence, 
would  be  remarkable  anywhere  and  at  any  time. 

His  first  entry  into  public  life  was  in  March,  1498 — *^a 
day  to  be  held  in  eternal  memory  :  "  a  few  months  later  he 
was  elected  senator,  and  passed  through  various  duties  and 
offices,  always  actively  employed.  The  first  break  in  this 
busy  career  he  records  on  the  1st  April,  1503  : 

"  Having  accompli  shed  my  term  of  service  in  the  Ordini  (Savii  degli 
Ordini),  in  which  I  have  had  five  times  the  reward  of  public  approba- 
tion, and  having  passed  out  of  the  college,  I  now  determine  that,  God 
granting  it,  1  will  let  no  day  pass  without  writing  the  news  that 
comes  from  day  to  day,  so  that. I  may  the  better,  accustoming  myself 
to  the  strict  truth,  go  on  with  my  true  history,  which  was  begun 
several  years  ago.  Seeking  no  eloquence  of  composition,  I  will  thus 
note  down  everything  as  it  happens." 

This  retirement  however  does  not  last  long  :  for  within 
a  few  months  we  read  : 

"  Having  been,  in  the  end  of  September,  without  any  application 
on  my  part,  or  desire  to  re-enter,  elected  by  the  grace  of  the  fathers 
of  the  senate,  in  a  council  of  the  Pregadi,  for  the  sixth  time,  Savio 
degli  Ordini,  I  have  decided  not  to  refuse  office  for  two  reasons. 
First,  because  I  desire  always  to  do  what  I  can  for  the  benefit  of  our 
republic  ;  the  second,  because  my  former  service  in  the  college  was 
always  in  times  of  great  tribulation  during  the  Turkish  war,  in  which 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  353 

I  endured  no  little  fatigue  of  mind.  But  now  the  peace  with  the  Turk 
has  been  signed,  as  I  have  recorded  in  the  former  book,  I  find  myself 
again  in  the  college  in  a  time  of  tranquillity  ;  therefore,  with  the 
Divine  aid,  following  my  first  determination,  1  will  describe  here  day 
by  day  the  things  that  occur,  the  plain  facts,  leaving  for  the  moment 
every  attempt  at  an  elaborate  style  aside." 

Other  notices  of  a  similar  kind  follow  at  intervals.  Now 
and  then  there  occur  gaps,  and  on  several  occasions  Marino 
puts  on  a  little  polite  semblance  of  being  ratlier  pleased  than 
otherwise  when  these  occur  ;  but  gradually  as  tlie  tide  of 
public  life  seizes  him,  becomes  more  and  more  impatient  of 
exclusion,  and  ceases  to  pretend  that  he  likes  it,  or  that  it 
suits  him.  His  time  of  peace  did  not  last  long.  The 
league  of  Cambrai  rose  like  a  great  storm  from  west  and 
south  and  north,  threatening  to  overwhelm  the  republic, 
which,  as  usual  in  such  great  dangers,  was  heavy  with 
fears,  and  torn  with  intrigues  within,  when  most  seriously 
threatened  from  without.  Sanudo  tells  us  of  an  old  senator 
long  retired  from  public  life  for  whom  the  doge  sent  in  the 
horror  of  the  first  disasters,  and  who,  beginning  to  weep, 
said  to  his  wife,  ''  Give  me  my  cloak.  I  will  go  to  the 
council  to  say  four  words,  and  then  die."  The  troubled 
council,  where  every  man  had  some  futile  expedient  to 
advise,  a  change  of  the  Proveditori,  or  the  sending  of  anew 
commissioner  to  the  camp  of  the  defeated,  is  put  before  us 
in  a  few  words.  Sanudo  himselt  was  strongly  in  favor  of 
two  things — that  the  doge  himself  should  take  the  field,  and 
that  an  embassy  should  be  sent  to  the  Turk  to  ask  for  help. 
He  gives  a  melancholy  description  of  the  great  AscensioQ 
Day,  the  holiday  of  the  year,  which  fell  at  this  miserable 
moment  when  the  forces  of  the  republic  were  in  full  rout, 
retreating  from  point  to  point. 

"  17  May,  1509.— It  was  Ascension  Day  (La  Sensa),  but  there  was 
nothing  but  weeping.  No  visitors  were  to  be  heard  of,  no  one  was 
visible  in  the  Piazza;  the  fathers  of  the  college  were  broken  down 
with  trouble,  and  still  more  our  doge,  who  never  spoke,  but  looked 
like  a  dead  man.  And  much  was  said  for  this  la.«t  time  of  sending  the 
doge  in  person  to  Verona,  to  encourage  our  army  and  our  people 
there,  and  to  send  five  hundred  gentlemen  with  his  serenity,  at  their 


354  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

own  expense.  Thus  the  talk  went  in  the  Piazza  and  on  the  benches 
of  the  Pregadi,  but  those  of  the  college  (of  senators)  took  no  action, 
nor  did  the  doge  offer  himself.  He  said,  however,  to  his  sons  and 
dependents,  *  The  doge  will  do  whatever  the  country  desires.'  At 
the  same  time  he  is  more  dead  than  alive;  he  is  seventy-three.  Thus 
those  evil  days  go  on;  we  see  our  own  ruin,  and  do  nothing  to  pre- 
vent it.  God  grant  that  what  I  proposed  had  been  done.  I  had 
desired  to  re-enter  as  a  Savio  degli  Ordini,  but  was  advised  against 
it,  and  now  I  am  very  sorry  not  to  have  carried  out  my  wish,  to  have 
procured  five  or  six  thousand  Turks,  and  sent  a  secretary  or  ambassa- 
dor to  the  sultan;  but  now  it  is  too  late." 

Sanudo^'s  project  of  calling  in  the  Turks,  their  ancient 
enemies,  to  help  them  against  the  league  of  Christian 
princes,  seemed  a  dangerous  expedient,  but  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  the  republic  was  in  despair.  The  poor  old 
doge,  who  was  more  dead  than  alive,  yet  ready  to  do  what- 
ever the  country  wished,  was  Leonardo  Loredano,  whose 
portrait  is  so  notable  an  object  in  our  own  National  Gallery, 
and  forms  our  frontispiece.  In  the  midst  of  all  these 
troubles,  however,  while  the  Venetian  statesmen  were  mak- 
ing anxious  visits  to  tlieir  nearest  garrison,  and  reviewing  and 
collecting  every  band  they  could  get  together,  the  familiar 
strain  of  common  life  comes  in  with  such  a  paragraph  as 
the  following: 

"17  July,  1509. — On  the  way  to  my  house  I  met  a  man  having  a 
beautiful  Hebrew  Bible  in  good  paper,  value  twenty  ducats,  who 
sold  it  to  me  as  a  favor  for  one  marzello:  which  I  took  to  place  it  in 
my  library." 

We  are  unable  to  say  what  was  the  value  of  a  marzello: 
but  it  is  evident  that  he  got  his  Bible  at  a  great  bargain, 
taking  in  this  case  a  little  permissible  advantage  of  the 
troubles  of  the  time. 

There  is  something  calming  and  composing  to  the  mind 
in  a  long  record  like  this  extending  over  many  years.  There 
occurs  the  episode  of  a  great  war,  of  many  privations,  mis- 
fortunes, and  bereavements,  such  as  seem  to  cover  the  whole 
world  with  gloom:  but,  we  have  only  to  turn  a  few  pages, 
however  agitated,  however  moving  may  be  the  record,  and 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  355 

we  find  the  state,  the  individual  sufferer,  whosoever  it  may 
be,  going  on  calmly  about  the  ordinary  daily  business  of 
life,  and  the  storm  gone  by.  These  storms  and  wars  and 
catastroplies  are  after  all  but  accidents  in  the  calmer  career 
which  fills  all  the  undistinguished  nights  and  days,  only 
opening  here  and  there  to  reveal  one  which  is  full  of  trouble, 
which  comes  and  departs  again.  History,  indeed,  makes 
more  of  these  episodes  than  life  does,  for  they  are  her  mile- 
stones by  which  to  guide  her  path  through  the  dim  multi- 
tude of  uneventful  days.  Our  historian,  however,  in  his 
endless  record,  gives  the  small  events  of  peace  almost  as 
much  importance  as  the /confusion  and  excitement  of  the 
desperate  moment  when  Venice  stood  against  all  Europe, 
holding  her  own. 

Sanudo's  public  life  was  one  of  continual  upsand  downs. 
He  would  seem  to  have  been  a  determined  conservative, 
opposing  every  innovation,  though  at  the  same  time,  like 
many  men  of  that  opinion,  exceedingly  daring  in  any  sug- 
gestion that  approved  itself  to  his  mind;  as  for  instance  in 
respect  to  asking  aid  from  the  Turks,  which  was  not  a  step 
likely  to  commend  itself  to  a  patriot  of  his  principles.  And 
he  would  not  seem  to  have  been  very  popular  even  among 
his  own  kindred,  for  there  are  various  allusions  to  family 
intrigues  against  him,  as  well  as  to  the  failure  of  his  hopes 
in  respect  to  elections  and  appointments.  But  that  extra- 
ordinarily limited  intense  life  of  the  Venetian  oligarchy,  a 
world  pejit  up  within  a  city,  with  all  its  subtle  trains  of 
diplomacy,  determined  independence  on  its  own  side,  and 
equally  determined  desire  to  have  something  to  say  in  every 
European  imbroglio,  was  naturally  a  life  full  of  intrigues,  of 
perpetual  risings  and  fallings,  where  every  man  had  to 
sustain  discomfiture  in  his  day,  and  was  ready  to  trip  up 
his  neighbor  whenever  occasion  served.  Marino's  incli- 
nation to  take  in  all  matters  a  side  of  his  own  was  not  a 
popular  quality,  and  it  is  evident  that,  like  many  other 
obstinate  and  clear-sighted  protesters,  he  was  often  right, 
often  enough  at  least  to  make  him  an  alarming  critic  and 
troublesome  disturber  of  existing  parties,  being  at  all  times, 
like  the  smith  of   Perth,  for  his  own  hand.     **  I,  Marino 


350  TEE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Sanudo,  moved  by  my  conscience,  went  to  the  meeting  and 
opposed  the  new  proposals/'  andai  in  renga  et  co7itradixi  a 
questo  modo  nove,  is  a  statement  which  is  continually  re- 
curring. And  as  the  long  list  of  volumes  grows,  there  is  a 
preface  to  almost  every  new  year,  in  which  he  complains, 
explains,  defends  his  actions,  and  appeals  against  unfavor- 
able judgments,  sometimes  threatening  to  relinquish  his 
toils,  taking  them  up  again,  consoling  himself  by  the  utter- 
ance of  his  complaint.  On  one  occasion  he  thanks  God  that 
notwithstanding  much  illness  he  still  remains  able  "  to  do 
something  in  this  age  in  honor  of  the  eternal  majesty,  and 
exaltation,  of  the  Venetian  state,  to  which  I  can  never  fail, 
being  born  in  that  allegiance,  for  which  I  would  die  a 
thousand  times  if  that  could  advantage  my  country,  not- 
withstanding that  I  have  been  beaten,  worn  out,  and  evil 
entreated  in  her  councils. '' 

"  In  the  past  year  (1522)  I  have  been  dismissed  from  the  Giunta 
(Zonta),  of  which  two  years  ago  I  was  made  a  member:  but  while  I 
sat  in  that  senate  I  always  in  my  speeches  did  my  best  for  my 
country,  with  full  honor  from  the  senators  for  my  opinions  and  judg- 
ment, even  when  against  those  of  my  colleagues.  And  this  is  the 
thing  that  has  injured  me,  for  had  I  been  mute,  applauding  individ- 
uals as  is  the  present  fashion,  letting  things  pass  that  are  against  the 
interest  of  my  dearest  country,  acting  contrary  to  the  law,  as  those 
who  have  the  guidance  of  the  city  permit  to  be  done,  even  had  I  not 
been  made  Avvogadore,  I  should  have  been  otherwise  treated.  But 
seeing  all  silent,  my  conscience  pushing  me  to  make  me  speak,  since 
God  has  granted  me  good  utterance,  an  excellent  memory,  and  much 
knowledge  of  things,  having  described  them  for  so  many  years,  and 
seen  all  the  records  of  public  business,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  should 
sin  against  myself  if  I  did  not  deliver  my  opinion  in  respect  to  the 
questions  discussed,  knowing  that  those  who  took  the  other  side  com- 
plained of  being  opposed,  because  they  hoped  to  reap  some  benefit 
from  the  proposals  in  question.  But  I  caring  only  for  the  public  ad- 
vantage, all  seemed  to  me  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  good  of 
my  country.  ...  I  confess  that  this  repulse  has  caused  me  no  small 
grief,  and  has  been  the  occasion  of  my  illness  :  and  if  again  I  was  re- 
jected in  the  ballet  for  the  past  year  it  was  little  wonder,  seeing  that 
many  thought  me  dead,  or  so  infirm  that  I  was  no  longer  good  for 
anything,  not  having  stirred  from  my  house  for  many  months  before. 
But  the  divine  bounty  has  still  preserved  me,  and,  as  I  have  said, 
enabled  me  to  complete  the  diary  of  the  year  ;  for  however  suffering 


THE  MAKERS  OB  VENICE,  357 

I  was  I  never  failed  to  record  the  news  of  every  day  which  was  brought 
to  me  by  my  friends,  so  that  another  volume  is  finished.  I  had  some 
thought  of  now  giving  up  this  laborious  work,  but  some  of  my 
countrymen  who  love  me  say  to  me,  '  Marin,  make  no  mistake;  follow 
the  way  you  have  begun  ;  remember  moglie  e  magistrato  e  del  del  des- 
tinato'  (marriages  and  magistrates  are  made  in  heaven)." 

In  another  of  these  many  prefaces,  Sanudo  reflects  that 
he  has  now  attained  his  fifty-fifth  year,  and  that  it  is 
time  to  stop  this  incessant  making  of  notes,  and  to  set 
himself  to  the  work  of  polishing  and  setting  fortii  in  a 
more  careful  style,  and  in  tlie  form  of  dignified  history, 
his  mass  of  material,  "being  now  of  tlie  number  of  the 
senators  of  the  Giunta  and  engaged  in  many  cares  and 
occupations." 

"  But  I  am  persuaded  by  one  who  has  a  right  to  command,  by  the 
noble  lord  Lorenzo  Loredano,  procurator,  son  of  our  most  serene 
prince,  who  many  times  has  exhorted  me  not  to  give  up  the  work 
which  I  have  begun,  saying  that  in  the  end  it  will  bring  me  glory 
and  perpetual  fame  ;  and  praying  me  at  least  to  continue  it  during 
the  lifetime  of  his  serene  father,  who  has  been  our  doge  for  nineteen 
years,  who  has  been  in  many  labors  for  the  republic,  and  having  re- 
gained a  great  part  of  all  that  bad  been  lost  in  the  late  great  and 
terrible  war,  now  waits  the  conclusion  of  all  things,  being  of  the  age 
of  eighty-four.  He  cannot  be  expected  to  live  long,  although  of  a 
perfect  constitution,  lately  recovered  from  a  serious  illness,  and 
never  absent  from  the  meetings  of  the  senate  or  council,  or  failing 
in  anything  that  is  for  the  benefit  of  the  state.  For  these  reasons  I 
have  resolved  not  to  relinquish  the  work  which  I  have  begun,  nor 
to  neglect  that  which  I  know  will  be  of  great  use  to  posterity, 
the  highest  honor  to  my  country,  and  to  myself  an  everlasting 
memorial." 

Thus  our  chronicler  over  and  over  again  persuades  him- 
self to  continue  and  accomplish  what  it  was  the  greatest 
liappiness  and  first  impulse  of  his  life  to  do. 

It  was  when  the  great  war  against  the  league  was  over, 
and  all  returned  in  peace  to  their  usual  occupations, 
Sanudo  to  the  library  which  he  was  gradually  making  into 
one  of  the  wonders  of  Venice,  and  to  his  still  more  wonder- 
ful work,  that  the  senate  executed  that  job — if  we  may  be 
allowed  the  word — and  elected  young  Navagero,  because 
he  was  so  poor,  to  the  office,  heretofore  only  an  imagi- 


358  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

nation,  of  historian  of  the  republic.  Marino  was  nearly  fifty 
and  still  in  the  full  heat  of  political  life,  giving  his  opinion 
on  every  subject,  ^'  contradicting "  freely,  and  taking 
nothing  for  granted,  when  this  appointment  was  made  ; 
and  there  is  no  doubt  that  to  be  passed  over  thus  for  so 
much  younger  and  less  important  a  man  must  have  been  a 
great  mortification  for  the  indefatigablechronicler  of  every 
national  event.  He  speaks  with  a  certain  quiet  scorn  in 
one  place  of  Messer  Anch'ea  Navagero  stipendiate pulhlico 
per  scrivere  la  Jiistoria.  Nor  was  this  the  only  wrong  done 
him,  for  the  successor  appointed  to  Navagero,  after  a  long 
interval  of  time,  it  would  appear,  was  another  man  with 
opportunities  and  faculties  much  less  appropriate  than  his 
own,  the  learned  dilettante  Pietro  Bembo,  afterward 
cardinal.  Bembo  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  out 
of  Venice,  in  Kome  at  the  court  of  the  pope,  where  he  filled 
some  important  offices  ;  at  Padua,  which  was  his  home  in 
his  later  years ;  at  the  court  of  Mantua  at  the  period  when 
that  court  was  the  center  of  cultivation  and  fine  sentiment. 
Indeed  we  find  only  occasional  traces  of  him  at  Venice  ; 
though  one  of  his  first  works  was  about  the  fantastic  little 
court  of  Queen  Catherine  Oornaro,  at  Asolo,  a  small  De- 
cameron, full  of  the  unreal  prettiness,  the  masques,  and 
posturing,  and  versifications  of  the  time.  It  was  to  this 
man  that  in  the  second  place  the  office  of  historian  was 
given  over  the  head  of  our  Marino ;  nor  was  this  the  only 
vexation  to  which  he  was  exposed.  One  of  the  documents 
quoted  by  Mr.  Eawdon  Brown  is  a  letter  from  Bembo,  an 
appeal  to  the  doge  to  compel  Sanudo  to  open  to  him  the 
treasures  of  his  collection,  one  of  the  most  curious  demands 
perhaps  that  were  ever  made.  It  is  dated  from  Padua,  the 
7th  August,  1531,  and  shows  that  not  even  for  the  writing 
of  the  history  did  this  official  of  the  senate  remove  his 
dwelling  to  Venice. 

"  Serene  prince,  my  lord  always  honored.  Last  winter  when  I 
was  in  Venice,  I  saw  the  histories  of  Messer  Marin  Sanudo,  and  it 
appeared  to  me  that  they  were  of  a  quality,  though  including  much 
that  is  unnecessary,  to  give  me  light  on  an  infinite  number  of  things 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  359 

needful  for  me  in  carrying  out  the  work  committed  to  my  hands  by 
your  serenity.  I  begged  of  him  to  allow  me  to  read  and  go  over 
these  as  might  be  necessary  for  my  work;  to  which  he  replied  that 
these  books  were  the  care  and  labor  of  his  whole  life,  and  that  he 
would  not  give  the  sweat  of  his  brow  to  any  one.  Upon  which  I 
went  away  with  the  intention  of  doing  without  them,  though  I  did 
not  see  how  it  would  be  possible.  Now  I  perceive  that  if  I  must  see 
the  public  letters  of  your  serenity  in  order  to  understand  many  things 
contained  in  the  books  of  the  senate,  which  are  very  necessary  for 
the  true  understanding  of  the  acts  of  this  illustrious  dominion  this 
labor  will  be  a  thing  impossible  to  me,  and  if  possible,  would  be  in- 
finite. Wherefore  I  entreat  your  serenity  to  exercise  your  authority 
with  Messer  Marin  to  let  me  have  his  books  in  my  own  hands 
according  as  it  shall  be  necessary,  pledging  myself  to  return  them 
safe  and  unhurt. " 

Perhaps  it  was  the  visible  invidiousness  of  this  appeal, 
the  demand  upon  a  man  who  had  been  passed  over,  for  the 
use  of  his  collections  in  the  execution  of  a  work  for  which 
he  was  so  much  better  qualified  thaii  the  actual  holder  of 
the  office,  which  shamed  the  senate  at  last  into  according 
to  Marino  a  certain  recompense  for  his  toil.  Mr.  Rawdon 
Brown  makes  it  evident  that  this  allowance  or  salary  came 
very  late  in  the  life  of  the  neglected  historian.  The 
Council  of  Ten  gave  him  a  hundred  and  fifty  ducats  ayear 
as  an  acknowledgment  of  the  existence  of  his  books, 
"  which  I  vow  to  God,"  he  says,  "  is  nothing  to  the  great 
labor  they  have  cost  me."  It  is  but  a  conjecture,  but  it 
does  not  seem  without  probability,  that  the  rulers  of  the 
republic  may  have  been  shamed  into  bestowing  this  pro- 
vision by  Bembo's  peevish  appeal,  and  that,  mollified  by 
the  grant,  Marino  permitted  the  use  of  \\\%sudori,  the  sweat 
of  his  brow,  the  labor  of  his  life  to  the  official  historian, 
whose  work  even  Foscarini,  dry  himself  to  the  utmost 
permissible  limit  of  aridity,  confesses  to  be  very  dry,  and 
which  possesses  nothing  of  the  charm  of  natural  animation 
and  verisimilitude  which  is  in  Sanudo's  rough,  confused, 
and  often  chaotic  narrative. 

This  wonderful  work  was  carried  on  till  the  year  1533, 
and  finally  filled  fifty-six  large  volumes,  the  history  of 
every  day  being  brought  down  to  within  two  years  and  a 
half  of  the  author's  death.     He  left  this  extraordinary  col- 


360  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

lection  to  the  republic  in  a  will  dated  4tli  December,  1533, 
immediately  after  the  close  of  the  record. 

'*  I  desire  and  ordain  that  all  my  books  of  the  history  and  events 
of  Italy,  written  with  my  own  hand,  beginning  with  ihe  coming  of 
King  Charles  of  France  into  Italy,  books  bound  and  enclosed  in  a 
bookcase,  to  the  number  of  fifty-six,  should  be  for  my  illustrious 
signoria,  to  be  presented  to  them  by  my  executors,  and  placed 
wherever  it  seems  to  them  good  by  the  Heads  of  the  Council  of  Ten, 
by  which  excellent  council  an  allowance  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  du- 
cats a  year  was  made  to  me,  which  I  swear  before  God  is  nothing  to 
the  great  labor  I  have  had. 

"  Also  I  will  and  ordain  that  all  my  other  printed  books,  which  are 
in  my  great  study  downstairs,  and  those  manuscripts  which  are  in 
my  bookcases  {armeri,  Scottice,  aumries)  in  my  chamber,  which  are 
more  than  six  thousand  five  hundred  in  number,  which  have  cost  me 
a  great  deal  of  money,  and  are  very  fine  and  genuine,  many  of  them 
impossible  to  replace  :  of  which  there  is  an  inventory  marked  with 
the  price  I  paid  for  each  (those  which  have  a  cross  opposite  the  name 
I  sold  in  the  time  of  my  poverty) :  I  desire  my  executors  that  they 
should  all  be  sold  by  public  auction.  And  I  pray  my  Lords  Procura- 
tors, or  Gastaldi,  not  to  permit  these  books  to  be  thrown  away,  espe- 
cially those  in  manuscript,  which  are  very  fine  and  have  cost  me  a 
great  deal,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  inventory  ;  and  those  in  boards  and 
the  works  printed  in  Germany  have  also  cost  me  no  small  sum.  And 
I  madie  so  much  expenditure  in  books  because  I  wished  to  form  a 
library  in  some  monastery,  or  to  find  a  place  for  some  of  them  in  the 
library  of  S,  Marco  ;  but  this  library  I  no  longer  believe  in,  therefore 
I  have  changed  my  mind  and  wish  everything  to  be  sold — which 
books  are  now  of  more  value  than  when  I  bought  them,  having  pur- 
chased them  advantageously  in  times  of  famine,  and  having  had 
great  bargains  of  them.  Wherefore  Messer  Zanbatista  Egnazio  and 
Messer  Antonio  di  Marsilio,  seeing  the  index,  will  be  able  to  form  an 
estimate,  and  not  allow  them  to  be  thrown  away  as  is  the  custom." 

This  resolution  was  taken  because  the  new  library  of  S. 
Marco,  so  long  promised  to  the  Venetians,  had  not  yet 
been  begun  ;  and  the  old  collector,  loving  his  books  as  if 
they  had  been  his  children,  had  evidently  lost  heart  and 
faith  in  any  undertaking  of  this  kind  being  carried  out  in 
Venice.  No  doubt  he  had  heard  of  the  legacy  made  by 
Petrarch  two  hundred  years  before  to  the  republic,  and 
bow  it  had  disappeared,  if  not  that  the  rotting  remains  of 
the  poet's  bequest   still  lay  in  the   chamber  on  the  roof  of 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  361 

S.  Marco,  where  they  had  been  thrown  with  a  carelessness 
whicli  looks  very  much  like  contempt,  and  as  if  the  busy 
city  had  no  time  for  such  vanities.  The  sale  of  his  books 
would  at  least  pay  his  creditors  and  be  an  inheritance  for 
the  nephews  who  had  taken  the  place  of  children  to  him, 
yet  were  not  too  grateful  for  his  care.  The  fifty  six  vol- 
umes in  the  great  oak  press  however  profited  scarcely  more 
than  Petrarch's  gift  from  being  placed  in  the  custody  of 
the  tremendous  Ten.  They  were  deposited  somewhere  out 
of  reach  of  harm,  it  is  to  be  supposed,  after  the  author's 
death,  but  were  so  completely  lost  sight  of  that  the  con- 
scientious Foscarini  makes  as  little  account  of  Marino 
Sanudo  as  if  he  had  been  but  a  mere  chronicler  of  the  lives 
of  certain  doges,  with  a  wealth  of  documentary  evidence 
indeed,  but  no  refinement  of  style  nor  special  importance  as 
a  chronicler.  It  was  not  till  the  year  1805  tluit  these 
books  were  found,  in  the  Royal  Library  at  Vienna,  got 
there  nobody  knows  how  in  some  accident  of  the  centuries. 
They  are  now  being  printed  in  all  their  amplitude,  as  has 
been  already  said,  a  mine  of  incalculable  historical  wealth. 
During  the  whole  time  of  their  composition  Sanudo  was 
a  public  official  and  magistrate,  taking  the  most  active  part 
in  all  the  business  of  his  time.  And  he  was  also  a  collector, 
filling  his  library  with  everything  he  could  find  to  illus- 
trate his  work,  from  the  great  inap2Janio?ido,  which  was  one 
of  the  chief  wonders  of  his  study,  down  to  drawings  of  cos- 
tumes, and  of  the  animals  and  flowers  of  those  subject 
provinces  of  Venice  which  he  had  visited  in  his  gay  youth, 
where  he  had  found  his  first  love,  and  which,  in  later 
days,  he  had  seen  lost  and  won  again.  **  The  illustrious 
strangers  who  visited  Venice  in  these  days  went  away  dis- 
satisfied unless  they  had  seen  the  Arsenal,  the  jewels  of  S. 
Marco,  and  the  library  of  Sanudo."  On  one  occasion  he 
himself  tells  of  a  wandering  prince  who  sent  to  ask  if  he 
might  see  this  collection,  and  above  all  its  owner,  but 
Marino  was  out  of  humor  or  tired  of  illustrious  visitors,  and 
refused  to  receive  him.  Some  of  these  visitors,  quoted  by 
the  learned  Professor  Fulin,  have  left  records  of  their  visits, 
and  of  how  they  came  out  of  the  modest  house  of  the  his- 


362  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

torian  stupefied  with  wonder  and  admiration.  "  Stupefied 
certainly/'  adds  the  professor,  "  was  that  gentleman  of 
Vicenza,  Federico  da  Porto,  who  exclaims  in  his  poem  on 
the  subject,  'He  who  would  see  the  sea,  the  earth,  and  the 
vast  world,  must  seek  your  house,  oh  learned  Marino  !' 

"  Sanudo  had  indeed  collected  a  series,  marvelous  for  his  time,  of 
pictures  (whether  drawn,  painted,  or  engraved  we  cannot  now 
ascertain),  in  which  were  represented  not  only  the  different  forms  of 
the  principal  Europeon  nations,  but  the  ethnographical  varieties  of 
the  human  race  in  the  old  world,  and  also  in  the  new,  then  recently 
discovered.     Da  Porto  continues  as  follows: 

"  Then  up  the  stairs  you  lead  us,  and  we  find 
A  spacious  corridor  before  us  spread, 
As  if  it  were  another  ocean  full 
Of  rarest  things  ;  the  wall  invisible 
With  curious  pictures  hid — no  blank  appears, 
But  various  figures,  men  of  every  guise  ; 
A  thousand  unaccustomed  scenes  we  see. 
Here  Spain,  there  Greece,  and  here  the  apparel  fair 
Of  France  ;  nor  is  there  any  land  left  out. 
The  new  world,  with  its  scarce  known  tribes,  is  there. 
Nor  is  there  any  place  so  far  remote 
That  does  not  send  some  envoy  to  your  walls. 
Or  can  refuse  to  show  its  wonders  there." 

A  great  picture  of  Verona,  where  Marino  had  filled  the 
office  of  Camerlengo,  and  where  the  uncle  who  stood  to 
him  in  place  of  a  father  was  captain,  seems  to  have  been  a 
special  attraction,  and  is  celebrated  by  many  visitors  in 
very  bad  Latin.  We  are  obliged  to  admit  that  the  de- 
scription of  the  collection  sounds  very  much  like  that  of  a 
popular  museum,  and  does  not  at  all  resemble  the  high 
art  which  we  should  expect  from  such  a  connoisseur  now- 
adays. But  probably  the  things  with  which  we  should  fill 
our  shelves  and  niches  were  the  merest  commonplaces  to 
Sanudo,  to  whom  the  different  fashions  of  men,  and  their 
dresses  and  their  ways,  and  their  dwellings  (his  own  youth- 
ful "  Itinerario  "  is  illustrated  by  sketches  of  towns  and 
houses  and  fortifications,  in  the  style  of  the  nursery), 
would  be  infinitely  more  interesting  than  those  art 
products  of  his  own  time,  which    form   our  delight.     His 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  363 

books,  however,  were  the  most  dear  of  all;  and  the 
glimpses  we  have  of  the  old  man  seated  among  his  ancient 
tomes,  so  carefully  catalogued  and  laid  up  iu  these  great 
wooden  armeri,  no  doubt  rich  with  carving,  and  for  one 
of  which  a  nineteenth  century  collector  would  give  his 
little  finger,  though  they  are  not  worth  thinking  of,  mere 
furniture  to  Marino — is  most  interesting  and  attractive. 
With  what  pleasure  he  must  have  drawn  forth  his  pen 
when  he  came  in  from  the  council,  having  happily 
delivered  himself  of  a  lungo  e  perfetta  rengaf  to  put  it  all 
down — how  he  held  out  against  the  payment  of  the  magis- 
trates, for  example,  and  contradicted  every  modo  novo:  or 
when  sick  and  infirm  himself,  the  quiet  of  the  study  was 
broken  by  one  after  another  visitor  in  toga  or  scarlet  gown, 
fresh  from  the  excitements  of  the  contest,  recounting  how, 
at  the  fifteenth  hour,  has  come  a  messenger  with  news 
from  the  camp,  or  a  galley  all  adorned  with  green 
bearing  the  report  of  a  victory!  The  old  man  with  his 
huge  book  spread  out,  his  ink-horn  always  ready,  his  every 
sense  acute,  his  mind  filled  with  parallel  cases,  with  a 
hundred  comparisons,  and  that  delightful  conviction  that 
it  was  not  only  for  the  benefit  of  the  carissima  patria,  but 
for  his  own  eternal  fame  and  glory,  that  he  continued 
page  by  page  and  day  by  day — furnishes  us  with  a  picture 
characteristically  Venetian,  inspired  by  the  finest  instincts 
of  his  race.  He  was  no  meek  recluse  or  humble  scribe, 
but  a  statesman  fully  capable  of  holding  his  own,  and 
with  no  small  confidence  in  his  own  opinion;  yet  the 
glory  of  Venice  is  his  motive  above  all  others,  and  the 
building  up  of  the  fame  of  the  city  for  whose  benefit  he 
would  die  a  thousand  times,  as  he  says,  and  for  whose 
honor  he  continues  day  after  day  and  year  after  year  his 
endless  and  tardily  acknowledged  toils.  Would  it  have 
damped  his  zeal,  we  wonder,  could  he  have  forseen  that 
his  unexampled  work  should  drop  into  oblivion,  after 
historians  such  as  the  best  informed  of  doges,  Marco  Fos- 
carini,  knowing  next  to  nothing  of  him — till  suddenly  a 
lucky  and  delighted  student  fell  upon  those  great  volumes 
in  the  Austrian  Library;  and    all    at    once,    after    three 


364  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

centuries  and  more,  old  Venice  sprang  to  light  under  the 
hand  of  her  old  chronicler,  and  Marino  Saiiudo  with  all 
his  pictures,  his  knickknacks,  hisbrown  rolls  of  manuscript 
and  dusty  volumes  round  him,  regained,  as  was  his  right, 
the  first  place  among  Venetian  historians — one  of  the  most 
notable  figures  of  the  mediaeval  world. 

Sanudo  died  in  1539,  at  the  age  of  seventy-three,  poor, 
as  would  seem  from  his  will,  in  which,  though  he  has  sev- 
eral properties  to  bequeath,  he  has  to  commit  the  payment 
of  his  faithful  servants,  especially  a  certain  Anna  of  Padua, 
who  has  nursed  and  cared  for  him  for  twenty  years  [^' who 
is  much  my  creditor,  for  I  have  not  had  the  means  to  pay 
her,  though  she  has  never  failed  in  her  service ''']  to  his 
executors  as  the  first  thing  to  be  done,  primo  et  ante 
omnium,  after  the  sale  of  his  effects.  But  he  would  seem 
to  have  had  anticipations  of  a  satisfactory  conclusion  to  his 
affairs,  since,  he  orders  for  himself  a  marble  sepulcher,  to 
be  erected  in  the  church  of  S.  Zaccaria,  with  the  following 
inscription: 

**  Ne  tu  hoc  despice  quod  vides  Sepulchrum 
Seu  sis  advena,  seu  urbanus, 

Ossa  sunt  liic  sita 
Marini  Sanuti  Leonard!  filii 

Senatoris  Clarissimi, 
Rerum  Antiquarum  Indagatoris 
Historie  Venetorum  ex  publico  decreto 
Scriptoris  Solertissimi. 
Hoc  volui  te  Scire,  nunc  bene  vade, 
Vale." 

Some  time  afterward,  however,  the  old  man,  perhaps 
losing  heart,  finding  his  books  and  his  curiosities  less 
thought  of  than  he  had  hoped,  gives  up  the  marble  sarcoph- 
agus so  dear  to  his  age,  and  bids  them  bury  him  where  he 
falls,  either  at  S.  Zaccaria  with  his  fathers,  or  at  S.  Fran- 
cisco della  Vigna  where  his  mother  lies,  he  no  longer  cares 
which:  but  he  still  clings  to  his  epitaph,  the  eterna  memoria 
with  which  he  had  comforted  himself  through  all  his  toils. 
Alas!  it  has  been  with  his  bodily  remains  as  for  three  cen- 
turies with  those  of  his  mind  and  spirit.     No  one  knows 


To  face  page  doi. 


GATEWAY  OF  S.  GREOORIO. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  365 

where  the  historian  lies.  His  house,  with  his  stemma,  the 
arins  of  the  Ca'  Saiiudo,  still  stands  in  the  parish  of  S. 
Giacomo  dell'  Orio,  behind  the  B'ondaco  dei  Turchi,  an 
ancient  house,  once  divided  into  three  for  the  use  of  the 
different  branches  of  an  important  family,  now  fallen  out 
of  all  knowledge  of  the  race,  and  long  left  without  even  a 
stone  to  commemorate  Marino  Sanudo's  name.  This  neg- 
lect has  now  been  remedied,  but  not  by  Venice,  by  the  lov- 
ing care  of  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  the  first  interpreter  and 
biographer  of  this  long-forgotten  name.  The  municipality 
of  Venice  are  fond  of  placing  Lajnde  on  every  point  of 
vantage,  but  the  anxious  exhortations  of  our  countryman 
did  not  succeed  in  inducing  the  then  authorities  to  give 
this  tribute  to  their  illustrious  historian. 

Since  that  period  however  his  place  in  his  beloved  city 
has  been  fully  establislied,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  think  that 
it  was  an  Englishman  who  was  the  first  to  claim  everlast- 
ing remembrance,  the  reward  which  he  desired  above  all 
others,  for  the  name  of  Marino  Sanudo,  of  all  the  histo- 
rians of  Venice  the  greatest,  the  most  unwearied,  and  the 
best. 


366  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ALDUS  AND   THE   ALDIN^ES. 

1^  THE  end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  when  all  the  arts 
were  coming  to  their  climax,  nothwithstanding  the 
echoes  of  war  and  contention  that  were  never  silent,  and  in 
the  midst  of  which  the  republic  had  often  hard  ado  to  hold 
her  own,  Venice  suddenly  became  the  chief  center  of  liter- 
ary eifort  in  Italy,  or  we  might  say,  at  that  moment,  in  the 
world.  Her  comparative  seclusion  from  actual  personal 
danger,  defended  as  she  was  like  England  by  something 
much  more  like  a  ^'silver  streak"  than  our  stormy  Channel, 
had  long  made  a  city  a  haven  of  peace,  such  as  Petrarch 
found  it,  for  men  of  letters  ;  and  the  freedom  of  speech,  of 
which  that  poet  experienced  both  the  good  and  evil,  natur- 
ally attracted  many  to  whom  literary  communion  and 
controversy  were  the  chief  pleasures  in  life.  It  was  not 
however  from  any  of  her  native  litei^ati  that  the  new  im- 
pulse came.  A  certain  Theobaldo  Manucci,  or  Mannutio, 
familiarly  addressed,  as  is  still  common  in  Italy,  as  Messer 
or  Ser  Aldo,  born  at  the  little  town  of  Bassiano  near  Rome, 
and  consequently  calling  himself  Romano,  had  been  for 
some  time  connected  with  the  family  of  the  Pii,  princes  of 
Carpi^  as  tutor.  The  dates  are  confused,  and  the  infor- 
mation uncertain  at  this  period  of  his  career.  One  of  his 
earlier  biographers,  Manni,  introduces  Aide's  former  pupil 
as  a  man  able  to  enter  into  literary  discussions  and  take  a 
part  in  the  origination  of  great  plans,  whereas  Renouard,  the 
accomplished  author  of  the  *^Annales  de  V  Imprierie  des 
Aides,''  speaks  of  Alberto  as  a  boy,  precocious,  as  was  not 
unusual  to  the  time,  but  still  in  extreme  youth,  when  the 
new  turn  was  given  to  his  preceptor's  thoughts.     The  nat 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  367 

ural  conclusion  from  the  facts  would  be,  that  having  com- 
pleted his  educational  work  at  Carpi,  Aldo  had  gone  to 
Ferrara  to  continue  his  studies  in  Greek,  and  when  driven 
away  by  the  siege  of  that  city  had  taken  refuge  with  Count 
Giovanni  Pico  at  Mirandola,  and  from  thence,  in  company 
with  that  young  and  brilliant  scholar,  had  returned  to  his 
former  home  and  pupil— where  there  ensued  much  consul- 
tation and  many  plans  in  the  intervals  of  the  learned  talk 
between  these  philosophers,  as  to  what  the  poor  man  of 
letters  was  now  to  do  for  his  own  living  and  the  furtherance 
of  knowledge  in  Itcily.  Probably  the  want  of  text-books, 
the  difficulty  of  obtaining  books  of  any  kind,  the  incorrect- 
ness of  those  that  could  be  procured,  the  need  of  grammars, 
dictionaries,  and  all  the  tools  of  learning,  which  would  be 
doubly  apparent  if  the  young  Alberto,  heir  of  the  house, 
was  then  in  the  midst  of  his  education,  led  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  elders  to  this  subject.  Count  Pico  was  one  of 
the  best  scholars  of  his  time,  very  precocious  as  a  boy  and  in 
liis  maturity  still  holding  learning  to  be  most  excellent  ; 
and  Messer  Aldo  was  well  aware  of  all  the  practical  disad- 
vantages with  which  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  was  sur- 
rounded, having  been  himself  badly  trained  in  the  rules  of 
an  old-fashioned  **Doctrinale,"  '*a  stupid  and  obscure  book 
written  in  barbarous  verse."  Their  talk  at  last  would 
seem  to  have  culminated  in  a  distinct  plan.  Aldo  was  no 
enterprising  tradesman  or  speculator  bent  on  money-mak- 
ing. But  his  educational  work  would  seem  to  have  been 
brought  to  a  temporary  pause,  and  in  the  learned  leisure  of 
the  little  principality,  in  the  fine  company  of  the  princely 
scholars  who  could  both  understand  and  help,  some  lurk- 
ing desires  and  hopes  no  doubt  sprang  into  being.  To  fill 
the  world  with  the  best  of  books,  free  from  the  blemishes 
of  incorrect  transcription,  or  the  print  which  was  scarcely 
more  trustworthy — what  a  fine  occupation,  better  far  than 
the  finest  influence  upon  the  mind  of  one  pupil,  however 
illustrious  !  The  scheme  would  grow,  and  one  detail  after 
another  would  be  added  in  the  conversation  \>hich  must 
have  become  more  and  more  interesting  as  this  now  excit- 
ing project  shaped  itself.    We  can  hardly  imagine  that  the 


368  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

noble  house  in  which  the  scheme  originated,  and  the  bril- 
liant visitor  under  whose  auspices  it  was  formed,  did  not 
promise  substantial  aid  in  an  undertaking  which  the 
learned  tutor  had  naturally  no  power  of  carrying  out  by 
himself;  and  when  all  the  other  preliminaries  were  settled, 
Venice  was  fixed  upon  as  the  fit  place  for  the  enterprise. 
Pico  was  a  Florentine,  Aldo  a  Roman,  but  there  seems  to 
have  existed  no  doubt  in  their  minds  as  to  the  best  center 
for  this  great  scheme. 

The  date  of  Aldo^s  settlement  in  Venice  is  uncertain, 
like  many  other  facts  in  this  obscure  beginning.  His  first 
publication  appeared  in  1494,  and  it  was  in  1482  that  he 
left  Ferrara  to  take  shelter  in  the  house  of  the  Pii.  It 
would  seem  probable  that  he  reached  Venice  soon  after  the 
later  date,  since  in  his  applications  to  the  senate  for  the 
exclusive  use  of  certain  forms  of  type  he  describes  himself 
as  for  many  years  an  inliabitant  of  the  city.  Manni  con- 
cludes that  he  must  have  been  there  toward  1488,  or 
rather  that  his  preparations  for  the  establishment  of  his 
Stamperia  originated  about  that  time.  He  did  not  how- 
ever begin  at  once  with  this  project,  but  established  himself 
in  Venice  as  a  reader  or  lecturer  on  the  classical  tongues, 
*'  reading  and  interpreting  in  public  for  the  benefit  of  the 
noble  and  studious  youth  of  the  city  the  most  renowned 
Greek  and  Latin  writers,  collating  and  correcting  those 
manuscripts  which  it  was  his  intention  to  print."  He 
drew  around  him  while  engaged  in  this  course  of  literature 
all  that  was  learned  in  Venice.  Senators,  students, 
priests,  whoever  loved  learning,  were  attracted  by  his 
already  well-known  fame  as  a  fine  scholar,  and  by  the 
report  of  the  still  greater  undertaking  on  which  he  was 
bent  when  a  favorable  moment  should  arise.  No  doubt 
Aldo  had  been  furnished  by  his  patrons  with  the  best  of 
introductions,  and  friends  and  brethren  flocked  about  him, 
so  many  that  they  formed  themselves  into  a  distinct  society 
— the  Neacademia  of  Aldo — a  collection  of  eager  scholars 
all  ready  to  help,  all  conscious  of  the  great  need,  and  what 
we  should  call  in  modern  parlance  the  wonderful  opening 
for  a  great  and  successful  effort.     Sabellico,  the  learned  and 


THE  MAKERS  OIB  VENICE.  369 

eloquent  historian,  with  whose  new  work  Venice  was  ring- 
ing; Sanudo,  our  beloved  chronicler,  then  beginning  his 
life-long  work;  Bembo,  the  future  cardinal,  already  one  of 
the  fashionable  semi-priests  of  society,  holding  a  canonicate; 
the  future  historian  who  wrote  no  history,  Andrea  Nava- 
gero,  but  he  in  his  very  earliest  youth;  another  cardinal, 
Leandro,  then  a  barefooted  friar:  all  crowded  about  the 
new  classical  teacher.  The  enthusiam  with  which  he  was 
received  seems  to  have  exceeded  even  the  ordinary  welcome 
accorded  in  that  age  of  literary  freemusony  to  every  man 
who  had  any  new  light  to  throw  upon  the  problems  of 
knowledge.  And  while  he  expounded  and  instructed,  the 
work  of  preparation  for  still  more  important  labors  went 
on.  It  is  evident  that  he  made  himself  fully  known,  and 
even  became  an  object  of  general  curiosity,  one  of  the  per- 
sonages to  be  visited  by  all  that  were  on  the  surface  of  Vene- 
tian society — and  that  the  whole  of  Venice  was  interested 
and  entertained  by  the  idea  of  the  new  undertaking. 
Foreign  printers  had  already  made  Venice  the  scene  of 
their  operations,  the  Englishman  Jenson  and  the  Teutons 
from  Spires  having  begun  twenty  or  thirty  years  before  to 
print  Venezia  on  the  title-pages  of  their  less  ambitious 
volumes.  But  Aldo  was  no  mere  printer,  iior  was  his  work 
for  profit  alone.  It  was  a  labor  of  love,  an  enterprise  of 
the  highest  public  importance,  and  as  such  commended  it- 
self to  all  who  cared  for  education  or  the  humanities,  or 
who  had  any  desire  to  be  considered  as  members  or  .disci- 
ples of  that  highest  and  most  cultured  class  of  men  of 
letters,  who  were  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  age. 

The  house  of  Aldus  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  corner  of 
the  Campo  di  San  Agostino,  not  far  from  the  beautiful 
Scuola  di  S.  Giovanni  Evangelista,  which  every  stranger 
visits.  It  was  a  spot  already  remarkable  in  the  history  of 
Venice,  though  the  ruins  of  the  house  of  that  great  cava- 
liere,  Bajamonte  Tiepolo,  must  have  disappeared  before 
Aldus  brought  his  peaceful  trade  to  this  I'etired  and  quiet 
place — far  enough  off  from  the  centers  of  Venetian  life  to 
be  left  in  peace,  one  would  have  thought.  But  that  this 
was  not  the  case,  and  that  his  house  was  already  a  great 


370  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

center  of  common  interest,  is  evident  from  one  of  the 
dadicatory  epistles  to  an  early  work  addressed  to  Andrea 
Navagero,  in  which  Aldus  complains  with  humorous  seri- 
ousness of  the  many  interruptions  from  troublesome  visit- 
ors or  correspondents  to  which  he  was  subject.  Letters 
from  learned  men,  he  says,  arrive  in  such  multitudes  that 
were  he  to  answer  them  all  it  would  occupy  him  night  and 
day.  Still  more  importunate  were  those  who  came  to  see 
him,  to  inquire  into  his  work: 

"  Some  from  friendship,  some  from  interest,  the  greater  part  because 
tliey  have  nothing  to  do — for  then  *  Let  us  go,'  they  say,  'to  Aldo's.' 
They  come  in  crowds  and  sit  gaping — 

"  '  Non  missura  cutem,  nisi  plena  cruoris  Jiirudo.^ 

I  do  not  speak  of  those  who  come  to  read  to  me  either  poems  or  prose, 
generally  rough  and  unpolished,  for  publication,  for  I  defend  myself 
from  these  by  giving  no  answer  or  else  a  very  brief  one,  which  I 
hope  nobody  will  take  in  ill  part,  since  it  is  done,  not  from  pride  or 
scorn,  but  because  all  my  leisure  is  taken  up  in  printing  books  of 
established  fame.  As  for  those  who  come  for  no  reason,  we  make 
bold  to  admonish  them  in  classical  words  in  a  sort  of  edict  placed  over 
our  door — '  Whoever  you  are  Aldo  requests  you,  if  you  want  any- 
thing, ask  it  in  few  words  and  depart,  unless,  like  Hercules,  you  come 
to  lend  the  aid  of  your  shoulders  to  the  weary  Atlas.  Here  will  al- 
ways be  found  in  that  case  something  for  you  to  do,  however  many 
you  may  be.' " 

This  affords  us  a  whimsical  picture  of  one  of  the  com- 
monest grievances  of  busy  persons,  especially  in  literature. 
No  doubt  the  idlers  who  said  to  each  other  ''  Let  us  go  to 
Aldo's"  considered  themselves  to  be  showing  honor  to 
literature,  as  well  as  establishing  their  own  right  to  con- 
sideration, when  they  went  all  that  long  way  from  the 
gayeties  of  the  Piazza  or  the  lively  bottegas  and  animation 
of  the  Eialto  to  the  busy  workshops  in  that  retired  and  dis- 
tant Campo,  where  it  might  be  their  fortune  to  rub  shoul- 
ders with  young  Bembo  steeped  in  Greek,  or  get  into  the 
way  of  Sanudo,  or  be  told  sharply  to  ask  no  questions  by 
Aldo  himself:  let  us  hope  they  were  eventually  frightened 
off  by  the  writing  over  the  door.  The  suggestion  however 
that  they  should  help  in  the  work  was  no  form  of  speech, 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE,  371 

for  Aldo's  companions  anil  friends  not  only  surrounded  him 
with  sympathy  and  intelligent  encouragement,  but  dili- 
gently worked  witli  him,  giving  him  tlie  benefit  of  their 
varied  studies  and  critical  experience — collating  manu- 
scripts and  revising  proofs  with  a  patience  and  continuous 
labor  of  which  the  modern  printer,  even  in  face  of  the  most 
illegible  "copy,"  could  form  no  idea.  For  the  manuscripts 
from  which  they  printed  were  in  almost  all  instances  incor- 
rect and  often  imperfect,  and  to  develop  a  pure  text  from 
the  careless  or  fragmentary  transcripts  which  had  perhaps 
come  mechanically  through  the  hands  of  ignorant  scribes — 
taking  from  each  what  was  best,  and  filling  up  the  gaps, 
was  a  work  which  required  great  caution  and  patience,  as 
well  as  intelligence  aiul  some  critical  power. 

The  first  work  published  by  Aldus,  true  to  his  original 
purpose,  was  the  Greek  grammar  of  Constantine  Lascaris, 
conveyed  to  him,  as  he  states  in  his  preface,  by  Bembo  and 
another  young  man  of  family  and  culture,  *Miow  studying 
at  Padua."  Bembo  it  is  well  known  had  spent  several 
years  in  Sicily  with  Lascaris  studying  Greek,  so  that  it 
would  seem  natural  that  he  should  be  the  means  of  commu- 
nication between  the  author  and  publisher.  This  is  the 
first  work  with  a  date,  according  to  the  careful  Renouard, 
which  came  from  the  new  press.  A  small  volume  of  poetry, 
but  without  date,  the  "Musaeus,"  competes  with  this  book 
for  the  honor  of  being  the  first  published  by  Aldus;  but  it 
would  not  seem  very  easy  to  settle  the  question,  and  the 
reader  will  not  expect  any  bibliographical  details  in  this 
place.  The  work  went  on  slowly,  the  first  twoyears produc- 
ing oidy  five  books,  one  of  which  was  '^Aristotle  " — the  first 
edition  ever  attempted  in  the  original  Greek.  In  this  great 
undertaking  Aldus  had  the  assistance  of  two  editors,  Alex- 
ander Bondino  and  Scipione  Fortiguerra,  scholars  well 
known  in  their  time,  one  calling  himself  Agathemeron,  the 
other  Carteromaco,  according  to  their  fantastic  fashion,  and 
both  now  entirely  unknown  by  either  appellation.  It  was 
dedicated  to  Alberto  Pio  of  Carpi,  the  young  prince  with 
whom  and  whose  training  the  new  enterprise  was  so  much 
connected.     It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  publishing  of  this 


372  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

elaborate  kind,  so  slow,  so  elaborately  revised,  so  difficult  to 
produce,  could  have  paid  even  its  own  expenses,  at  least  at 
the  beginning.  It  is  true  that  the  printer  had  a  monoply 
of  the  Greek,  which  he  was  tlie  first  to  introduce  to  the 
world.  No  competing  editions  pressed  his  ^'Aristotle;''  he 
had  the  limited  yet  tolerably  extensive  market — for  this  new 
and  splendid  work  would  be  emphatically,  in  the  climax  of 
Eenaissance  enthusiasm  and  ambition,  one  which  no  prince 
who  respected  himself,  no  cardinals  given  to  letters,  or  noble 
dilettante  could  be  content  without — in  his  own  hands.  And 
the  poor  scholars  who  worked  in  his  studio,  some  of  them 
lodging  under  his  roof,  with  instancaVdi confronti  de'  codici 
migliori,  collation  of  innumerable  manuscripts  according  to 
the  careful  ^^  judgment  of  the  best  men  in  the  city,  accom- 
plished not  only  in  both  the  classical  languages  but  in  the 
soundest  erudition '^ — would  probably  have  but  small  pay 
for  their  laborious  toils.  But  under  the  most  favorable 
circumstances  the  aid  of  his  wealthy  patrons,  was  no  doubt 
indispensable  to  Aldo  in  the  beginning  of  his  career. 

Nor  was  the  costly  work  of  editing  his  only  expense. 
From  the  time  when  the  scholar  took  up  the  new  trade  of 
printer,  it  is  evident  that  a  new  ambition  rose  within  him  : 
not  only  the  best  text,  but  the  best  type  occupied  his  mind. 
The  ^^Lacaris,"  Eenouard  tells  us,  was  printed  in  '^caradere 
Latin  un  peu  bizarre  " — of  which  scarcely  any  further  use 
was  made.  For  some  time  indeed  each  successive  volume 
would  seem  to  have  been  printed  in  another  and  another 
form  of  type,  successive  essays  to  find  the  best,  which  is 
another  proof  of  the  anxiety  of  Aldus  that  his  work  should 
be  perfect.  Not  content  with  the  ordinary  Roman  char- 
acter with  which  Jenson  in  Venice  and  the  other  printers 
had  already  found  relief  from  the  ponderous  dignity  of  the 
Black  Letter,  he  set  himself  to  invent  a  new  type.  The 
tradition  is  that  the  elegant  handwriting  of  Petrarch,  so 
fine  and  clear,  was  the  model  chosen  for  this  invention 
which  was  received  with  enthusiasm  at  the  moment.  It 
was  founded  by  Francesco  of  Bologna,  and  called  at  first 
Aldino,  after  its  inventor,  and  then  Italic.  No  one  who 
knows  or  possesses  books  in   this  graceful  and  beautiful 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  373 

type  will  doubt  that  it  is  the  prettiest  of  all  print;  but 
after  a  little  study  of  these  beautiful  pages,  without  the 
break  of  relief  or  a  single  paragraph,  all  flowing  on  line 
after  line,  the  reader  will  probably  succumb  half  blinded 
and  wholly  confused,  and  return  with  pleasure  to  the  hon- 
est every-day  letters,  round  and  simple,  of  the  Roman  type. 
A  copy  of  the  "Cortigiano,"  one  of  the  best  known  of  old 
Italian  books,  lies  before  us  at  this  moment,  with  the  deli- 
cate Aldine  mark,  the  anchor  and  the  dolphin,  on  the  title- 
page.  Nothing  could  be  more  appropriate  to  the  long  un- 
ending dialogue  and  delightful  artificial  flow  of  superfine 
sentiment  and  courtly  talk,  than  the  charming  minute  and 
graceful  run  of  the  letters,  corsivo,  like  a  piece  of  the  most 
beautiful  penmanship.  No  reader  could  possibly  wish  to 
read  the  ^*  Cortigiano"  straight  through  at  one  or  a  dozen 
readings:  but  were  the  subject  one  of  livelinr  interest, or 
its  appeal  to  the  heart  or  intellect  a  deeper  one  the  head 
would  soon  ache  and  the  eyes  swim  over  those  delightful 
pages.  In  the  enthusiasm  of  invention  Aldus  himself  de- 
scribes his  new  type  as*' of  the  greatest  beauty,  such  as 
was  never  done  before,"  and  appeals  to  the  signoria  of 
Venice  to  secure  to  him  for  ten  years  the  sole  right  to  use 
it — kindly  indicating  to  the  authorities  at  the  same  time 
the  penalty  which  he  would  like  to  see  attached  to  any 
breach  of  the  privilege. 

"  I  supplicate  that  for  ten  years  no  other  should  be  allowed  to  print 
incursive  letters  of  any  sort  in  the  dominion  of  your  serenity,  nor  to 
sell  books  printed  in  other  countries  in  any  part  of  the  said  dominion, 
under  pain  to  whoever  breaks  this  law  of  forfeiting  the  books  and 
paying  a  fine  of  two  hundred  ducats  for  each  offense,  which  fine  shall 
be  divided  into  three  parts,  one  for  the  officer  who  shall  convict, 
another  for  the  Pietd,  the  third  for  the  informer:  and  that  the  accu- 
sation be  made  before  any  officer  of  this  most  exceiient  city  before 
whom  the  informer  may  appear." 

Aldus  secured  his  privilege  from  a  committee  (if  we  may 
use  so  modern  a  word)  of  counselors,  among  whom  is 
found  the  name  of  a  Sanudo,  cousin  of  our  Marino,  who 
himself  according  to  a  note  in  his  diary,  seefus  to  have  pre- 
pared the  necessary  decree.     But  the  essential  over  delicacy 


374  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

of  the  typo  was  its  destruction.  It  continued  in  use  for  a 
number  of  years,  during  which  many  books  were  printed 
in  it:  but  after  that  period  dropped  into  the  occasional 
usage  for  emphasis  or  distinction  which  we  will  still  retain 
— though  our  modern  Italics,  no  doubt  the  natural  suc- 
cessors and  descendants  of  the  invention  of  Alius,  are 
much  more  commonplace  and  not  nearly  so  beautiful. 

It  is  pretty  to  know,  however,  that  the  first  Italian  book 
published  in  this  romantic  and  charming  form  was  the 
poems  of  Petrarch,  Le  Cose  Volgari  di  Messei-  Francesco 
P^trarchay  edited  with  groat  care  by  Bembo,  "  who,"  writes 
a  gentleman  of  Pavia  to  the  illustrious  lady,  Isabella, 
duchess  of  Mantua,  ^'  has  printed  the  Petrarch  from  a 
copy  of  the  verses  written  in  Petrarch^s  own  hand,  which 
I  have  held  in  mine,  and  which  belongs  to  a  Paduan.  It 
is  esteemed  so  much  that  it  has  been  followed  letter  by 
letter  in  the  printing  with  the  greatest  diligence."  The 
book  is  described  on  the  title-page  as  ^'  taken  from  the 
very  handwriting  of  the  poet,"  and  not  only  the  year,  but 
the  month  of  the  date,  July,  1501,  carefully  given. 
Renouard  tells  a  charming  story  of  a  copy  he  had  seen,  in- 
scribed from  one  fond  possessor  to  another,  through  three 
or  four  inheritances,  avec  une  sorte  d'idolatrie,  and  which 
contained  at  tl>3  end  a  sonnet  in  the  handwriting  of  Pietro 
Bembo; 

**  Se  come  qui  la  fronte  onesta  e  grave 
»  Del  sacro  almo  Poeta 

Che  d'un  bel  Lauro  colse  eterna  palma 
Cosi  vedessi  ancor  lo  spirito  e  I'alma: 
Stella  si  cbiara  e  lieta, 
Direst! ,  certoil  ciel  tutto  non  ave. 

**  Tu  clie  vieni  a  mirar  I'onesta  e  grave 
Sembianza  del  divin  nostro  Poeta, 
Pensa,  s'in  questa  il   tuo   desio  s'acqueta, 
Quanto  fu  il  veder  lui  dolce  e  soave." 

Lorenzo  of  Pavia  (the  same  man  apparently  who  visited 
Carpaccio  on  behalf  of  Gronzaga,  the  husband  of  Isabella, 
and  saw  that  painter's  picture  of  Jerusalem)  secured  a  copy 
of  this  true  amateur's  book,  printed  with  such  love  and 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  375 

care  "on  good  paper,  very  clear  and  white  and  equal,  not 
thick  in  one  part  and  thin  in  another,  as  are  so  many  of 
those  you  have  in  Mantua,"  as  a  '*  rare  thing,  which,  like 
your  ladyship,  has  no  paragon"  for  Duchess  Isabella. 

After  this  fine  beginning,  however,  there  followed  darker 
days.  In  1506  Aldus  had  to  leave  Venice  to  look  after 
properties  lost  or  in  danger,  a  troubled  enterprise  which  he 
sweetened  as  he  could  by  his  usual  search  after  manuscripts 
and  classical  information.  In  the  month  of  July  of  that 
year  an  accident  happened  to  him  which  affords  us  an  in- 
teresting glimpse  of  the  scholar-publisher.  lie  was  riding 
along  with  his  servant,  who  was  a  Mantuan,  but  under  sen- 
tence of  banishment  from  that  princedom,  returning  to 
Asola,  where  his  family  were,  from  a  prolonged  journey 
through  Lombardy.  The  pair  rode  along  quietly  enough, 
though  there  were  fightings  going  on  round  about — in 
short  stages,  ever  ready  to  turn  aside  to  convent  or  castle 
wliere  codexes  might  be  found,  or  where  there  was  some 
learned  chaplain  or  studious  friar  who  had  opinions  on  the 
subject  of  Aristotle  or  Virgil  to  be  consulted — when  sud- 
denly, as  they  crossed  the  Mantuan  frontier,  the  guards  who 
had  been  set  to  watch  for  certain  suspected  persons  started 
forth  to  seize  the  passengers.  The  servant,  terrified,  fled, 
tliinking  that  he  was  the  object  of  their  suspicions,  and  his 
master  was  seized  and  made  prisoner,  his  precious  papers 
taken  from  him,  and  himself  shut  up  in  the  house  of  tlie 
oflQcial  who  had  arrested  him.  Aldus  immediately  wrote 
to  the  prince  of  Mantua,  himself  an  amateur  of  the  arts, 
stating  his  hard  case.  His  servant's  foolish  flight  had 
aroused  all  manner  of  suspicions,  and  perhaps  the  old  manu- 
scripts which  formed  his  baggage  strengthened  the  doubts 
with  which  he  was  regarded.  He  writes  thus  with  modest 
dignity,  explaining  his  position: 

"  I  am  Aldo  Manutio  Romano,  priviliged  to  call  myself  of  the 
family  of  the  Pii  by  my  patron  Alberto  of  Carpi,  who  is  the  son-in- 
law  of  your  illustrious  highness — and  am  and  have  always  been  your 
humble  servant,  as  is  my  lord  whom  I  naturally  follow.  At  present 
in  consequence  of  my  undertaking  as  a  printer  of  books,  I  dwell  in 
Venice.     Desiring  to  print  the  works  of  Virgil,  which  hitherto  have 


370  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

been  very  imperfectly  rendered,  correctly  and  according  to  the  best 
texts,  I  have  sought  through  all  Italy  and  beyond  :  and  in  person  I 
have  gone  over  almost  all  Lombardy  to  look  for  any  manuscripts  of 
these  works  that  may  be  found.  On  my  way  back  to  Venice,  passing 
by  your  highness'  villa  at  Casa  Romana,  and  having  with  me  Feder- 
ico  de  Ceresara,  my  servant,  who  is  a  native  of  and  banished  from 
these  parts,  he  took  fright  when  your  highness'  guards  seized  his 
bridle,  and,  striking  his  horse  with  his  feet  fled  outside  the  bounda- 
ries of  your  highness'  territory.  Having  got  to  the  other  side  of  the 
frontier  he  sent  back  his  horse  :  for  which  cause  1  am  detained  here 
with  my  horses  and  goods,  both  those  which  my  servant  carried  and 
those  which  I  myself  had.  And  this  is  the  third  day  that  I  am  de- 
tained here,  to  the  great  injury  of  my  business,  and  I  entreat  your 
highness  to  be  pleased  to  command  Messer  Joanpetro  Moraro,  in 
whose  house  I  am,  to  permit  me  to  proceed  upon  my  journey,  and  to 
restore  to  me  my  horses  and  my  goods.  As  1  am  illustrating  the 
works  of  Virgil,  who  was  a  Mantuan,  it  appears  to  me  that  I  do  not 
deserve  evil  treatment  in  Mantua  but  rather  to  be  protected." 

Two  days  after  Aldus  was  compelled  to  write  again,  hav- 
ing received  no  answer ;  but  on  the  25th  of  July,  when  his 
detention  had  lasted  a  week,  he  was  liberated  with  Gonzaga^s 
apologies  and  excuses.  He  did  not  like  the  incident,  com- 
plaining bitterly  of  the  shame  of  being  incarcerated  ;but  it 
forms  an  interesting  illustration  in  history  to  see  him, 
with  all  his  precious  papers  in  his  saddle-bags,  and  his 
consciousness  of  a  name  as  well  known  as  their  master's, 
answering  the  interrogatories  of  the  guards,  appealing  to  the 
prince,  who  could  not  mistake,  though  these  ignorant  men- 
at-arms  might  do  so,  who  Aldo  Manutio  was. 

Among  the  various  assistants  whom  Aldus  employed 
during  these  first  busy  years,  and  whom  his  biographer, 
Manni,  calls  correttori  delta  Stamperia,  figured,  among 
others,  a  man  more  illustrious  than  any  yet  mentioned — 
Erasmus  of  Rotterdam,  uomo  d'ampia  e  spaziosa  fama. 
It  is  said  that  Erasmus  wrote  from  Bologna  to  propose  for 
publication  his  collection  of  Adages,  a  proposal  which  was 
received  eagerly  by  Aldus  ;  but  when  the  philosopher  came 
to  Venice,  he  shared  at  first  the  fate  of  those  unfortunates 
who  were  warned  by  the  placard  over  the  door  of  the  Stam- 
peria  to  state  their  business  quickly  and  be  gone.  When 
Aldus  knew,  however,  who  his  visitor  was,  he  hurried  from 


To  face  page  376. 


mSAR  SAN  BIAOIO. 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  377 

liis  workshop  and  his  proofs  to  receive  witli  honor  a  guest 
so  welcome.  The  Dutcliniaii  would  seem  to  have  entered 
his  house  at  once  as  one  of  his  recognized  assistants.  The 
famous  Scaliger,  in  a  philippic  directed  against  Erasmus, 
declares  that  when  he  found  refuge  there,  he  ate  for  three 
and  drank  for  many  without  doing  the  work  of  one  ;  but 
such  amenities  are  not  unknown  among  scholars  any  more 
than  among  the  ignorant.  Perhaps  the  heavier  Teuton 
always  seems  to  exceed  in  these  respects  amid  the  spare 
living  and  abstemious  sobriety  of  Italians.  Erasmus  him- 
self allows  that  after  the  publication  of  his  ''  Proverbs"  he 
had  worked  witli  Aldus  on  tlie  comedies  of  "  Terence  and 
Plautus"  and  the  tragedies  of  **  Seneca" — not  the  loftiest 
perhaps  of  classical  works — ^' in  which,"  he  says,  ^^I  think 
that  I  have  happily  restored  some  passages  with  the  sup- 
port of  ancient  manuscripts.  We  left  them  with  Aldus," 
he  adds,  **  leaving  to  his  judgment  the  question  of  pub- 
lication." This  work  never  seems  to  have  been  published 
by  the  elder  Aldus,  so  that  perhaps  Erasmus'  indignant 
denial  afterward  of  ever  having  done  any  work  of  correc- 
tion, except  upon  his  own  book,  may  after  all  be  reconcilable 
with  the  above  statements. 

The  busy  house  on  its  quiet  Campo,  with  all  the  bustle 
of  Venice  distant — not  even  the  measured  beat  of  the  oars 
on  the  canal,  most  familiar  of  sounds,  to  disturb  the  re- 
tired and  tranquil  square:  but  all  the  hum  of  incessant 
work  within,  the  scholars  withdrawn  in  silent  chambers 
out  of  the  way  of  the  printing  presses,  poring  over  their 
manuscripts,  straining  after  a  better  reading,  a  corrected 
phrase,  with  proofs  sent  from  one  to  another,  and  the 
master  most  busy  of  all,  giving  his  attention  now  to  a  new 
form,  now  to  an  old  manuscript — how  strange  a  contrast 
it  offers  to  the  gay  and  animated  life,  the  intrigues,  the 
struggles,  the  emulations,  outside!  No  doubt  the  Stam- 
peria  had  its  conflict  too.  Ser  Marino,  stepping  round  in 
his  senator's  robes  from  the  Ca'  Sanudo  not  far  off,  would 
not  meet  perhaps  without  a  gibe  the  youngster  Navagero, 
who  had  been  named  to  the  post  of  historian  over  his 
head;  nor  could  the  poor  Italian  scholars  refrain  from  re- 


378  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

marks  upon  the  big  appetite  and  slow  movements  of  that 
Dutch  Erasmus,  whose  reputation  has  proved  so  much 
more  stable  than  their  own.  But  these  jealousies  are 
small  in  comparison  with  the  struggles  of  the  council 
chamber,  the  secret  tribunals,  the  betrayals,  the  feuds  and 
frays  that  went  on  everywhere  around  them.  When  the 
Neacademia  met  upon  its  appointed  days,  and  tlie  learned 
heads  were  laid  together,  and  the  talk  was  all  of  Virgil  and 
Ovid,  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  how  full  of  an  inspiring 
sense  of  virtue,  and  work  that  was  for  the  world,  was  that 
grave  assembly!  When  Aldus  wrote  his  preface  to  the 
grammar  of  Lascaris,  which  was  his  first  publication,  he 
declares  himself  to  have  determined  to  devote  his  life  to  the 
good  of  mankind,  for  which  great  end,  though  he  might 
live  a  life  much  more  congenial  to  him  in  retirement,  he 
had  chosen  a  laborious  career.  They  were  all  inspired 
with  the  same  spirit,  and  toiled  over  obscure  readings  and 
much  corrected  proofs  with  the'  zeal  of  missionaries,  bring- 
ing new  life  and  light  to  the  dark  place.  ^^  Everything 
is  good  in  these  books,"  says  the  French  critic  Renouard. 
*'  Not  only  for  their  literary  merit,  most  of  them  being  the 
greatest  of  human  works,  but  also  in  the  point  of  view  of 
typographical  excellence,  they  are  unsurpassed.^'  Neither 
rival  nor  imitator  has  reached  the  same  height — even  his 
sons  and  successors,  though  with  the  aid  of  continually 
improving  processes,  never  attained  the  excellence  of  Aldo 
il  VeccMo,  the  scholar-printer,  the  first  to  devote  himself 
to  the  production  of  the  best  books  in  the  best  ws\j,  not  as 
a  mercantile  speculation,  but  with  the  devout  intention  of 
serving  the  world's  best  interests,  as  well  as  following  his 
own  cherished  tastes,  and  wording  out  the  chosen  plan 
of  his  life. 

It  is  one  remarkable  sign  of  the  universal  depression 
and  misery  that  Aldus  and  his  studio  and  all  his  precious 
manuscripts  disappeared  during  the  troubled  years  of  the 
great  Continental  war  in  which  all  the  world  was  against 
Venice.  In  1510, 1511,  and  1512,  scarcely  any  book  pro- 
ceeded from  his  press.  The  painters  went  on  with  their 
work  and  notwithstanding  the  misery  and  fear  in  the  city  the 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  379 

statesmen,  councilors,  all  public  officials,  were  more  active 
and  occupied  tiuvn  ever.  Hud  Venice  possessed  a  great 
poet,  he  would  not  in  all  probability  have  been  put  to 
silence  even  by  the  terrible  and  unaccustomed  distant  roar 
upon  the  mainland,  of  the  guns.^  But  the  close  and 
minute  labors  of  the  literary  corrector  and  critic  were  not 
compatible  with  these  horrible  disturbances.  Even  in  the 
height  of  the  Renaissance  men  were  indifferent  to  fine 
Latin  and  fine  Greek  and  tlie  most  lovely  varieties  of  type, 
in  the  vehemence  of  a  national  struggle  for  life. 

After  the  war  Aldus  returned  to  his  work  with  renewed 
fervor. 

"  It  is  difficult,"  says  Renouard,  "to  form  an  idea  of  the  passion 
with  which  he  devoted  himself  to  the  reproduction  of  the  great  works 
of  ancient  literature.  If  he  heard  of  the  existence  anywhere  of  a 
manuscript  unpublished,  or  which  could  throw  a  light  upon  an  exist- 
ing text,  he  never  rested  till  he  had  it  in  his  possession.  He  did  not 
shrink  from  long  journeys,  great  expenditure,  applications  of  all 
kinds  ;  and  he  had  also  the  satisfaction  to  see  that  on  all  sides  peo- 
ple bestirred  themselves  to  help  him,  communicating  to  him,  some 
freely,  some  for  money,  an  innumerable  amount  of  precious  manu- 
scripts for  the  advantage  of  his  work.  Some  were  even  sent  to  him 
from  very  distant  countries,  from  Poland  and  Hungary,  without  any 
solicitation  on  his  part." 

It  is  not  in  this  way  however  that  the  publisher,  that 
much-questioned  and  severely  ciiticized  middleman,  makes 
a  fortune.  And  Aldus  died  poor.  His  privileges  did  not 
stand  him  in  much  stead,  copyright,  especially  when  not 
in  books  but  in  new  forms  of  type,  being  non-existent  in 
his  day.  In  France  and  Germany,  and  still  nearer  home, 
his  beautiful  Italic  was  robbed  from  him,  copied  on  all 
sides,  notwithstanding  the  protection  granted  by  the  pope 
and  other  princes  as  well  as  by  the  Venetian  signoria. 
His  fine  editions  were  printed  from,  and  made  the  founda- 
tion of  foreign  issues  wliicli  replaced  his  own.  How  far  his 
princely  patrons  stood  by  him  to  repair  his  losses  there 
seems  no  infor-mation.  His  father-in-law,  Andrea  of  Asola, 
a  printer  who  was  not  so  fine  a  scholar,  but  perhaps  more 
able  to  cope  with  the  world,  did  come  to  his  aid,  and  his  son 
Paolo  Manutio,  and  his  grandson  Aldo  il  Giovane,  as  he  is 


380  THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

called,  suceeeded  him  in  turn  ;  the  first  with  kindred  am- 
bition and  aim  at  excellence,  the  latter  perhaps  with  aims 
not  quite  so  high.  We  cannot  further  follow  the  fortunes 
of  the  family,  nor  of  the  highly  cultured  society  of  which 
their  workshops  formed  the  center.  Let  us  leave  Aldo 
with  all  his  aids  about  him,  the  senators,  the  school-masters, 
the  poor  scholars,  the  learned  men  who  were  to  live  to  be 
cardinals,  and  those  who  were  to  die  as  poor  as  they  were 
famous  :  and  his  learned  Greek  Musurus,  and  his  poor 
student  from  Eotterdam,  a  better  scholar  perhaps  than  any 
of  them — and  all  his  idle  visitors  coming  to  gape  and 
admire,  while  our  Sanudo  swept  round  the  corner  from  S. 
Giacomo  deir  Orio,  with  his  vigorous  step  and  his  toga 
over  his  shoulders,  and  the  young  men  who  were  of  the 
younger  faction  came  in,  a  little  contemptuous  of  their 
elders  and  strong  in  their  own  learning,  to  the  meeting  of 
the  Aldine  academy  and  the  consultation  on  new  readings. 
The  Stamperia  was  as  distinct  a  center  of  life  as  the  Piazza, 
though  not  so  apparent  before  the  eyes  of  men. 

Literature  ran  into  a  hundred  more  or  less  artificial 
channels,  in  the  Venice  of  the  later  centuries  :  it  produced 
countless  works  upon  the  antiquities  of  the  city,  often 
more  valuable  than  interesting  :  it  brightened  into  the 
laughter,  the  quips  and  quirks  of  Goldoni ;  it  produced 
charming  verses,  pastorals,  descriptions  of  pageants  and 
feasts  :  but  never  has  risen  into  any  of  the  splendor  which 
is  the  dower  of  the  neighbor  republic,  the  proud  and  grave 
Tuscan  city.  The  finest  of  literary  memories  for  Venice  is 
that  of  the  Aldine  Stamperia,  where  for  once  there  was  a 
printer-publisher  who  toiled  and  spent  his  life  to  fill  the 
world  witli  beautiful  books,  and  hold  open  to  all  men  the 
gates  of  learning — ^'all  for  love  and  nothing  for  reward.''^ 

I  had  hoped  to  have  introduced  at  the  last  in  this  little 
gallery  of  Venetians  a  personage  more  grave  and  great,  a 
figure  unique  in  the  midst  of  this  ever-animated,  strong, 
stormy,  and  restless  race.  He  should  have  stood  in  his 
monastic  robe,  the  Theologian  of  Venice  :  he  too,  like 
every  other  of  her  sons,  for  his  city  against  every  power, 
even   those   of  church  and  pope.     But  Fra  Paolo  is  too 


THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE.  381 

great  to  come  in  at  the  end  without  due  space  and  per- 
spective about  liiin.  The  priest  who  forestalled  witli 
his  quick-flashing  genius  half  the  discoveries  of  his 
time,  who  guessed  what  it  meant  when  the  golden 
lamp  with  its  red  glimmer  swayed  as  it  hung  in  the 
splendid  gloom  of  8an  Marco,  before  ever  Galileo 
had  put  that  heresy  forth  ;  who  divined  how  the  blood 
made  its  way  through  our  veins  before  Harvey ;  who 
could  plan  a  palace  and  sway  a  senate,  as  well  as  defy  a 
pope  ;  who  was  adored  by  his  order  and  worshiped  by  his 
city,  yet  almost  murdered  at  his  own  door — is  perhaps  of 
all  Venetians  the  one  most  worthy  of  study  and  elucida- 
tion. It  is  only  natural,  according  to  the  common  course 
of  human  events,  that  he  should  therefore  be  left  out. 
The  convent  of  Fra  Paolo  lies  in  ruins,  his  grave,  just  over 
the  threshold  of  that  funereal  place,  is  shown  with  a 
grudge  by  the  friar  at  San  Michele,  who  probably  knows 
little  of  him  save  that  he  was  in  opposition  to  the  Holy  See. 
To  us  at  the  present  moment,  as  to  so  many  in  this  city, 
Fra  Paolo  must  continue  to  be  only  a  name. 


The  critics  of  recent  days,  have  had  much  to  say  as  to 
the  deterioration  of  Venice  in  her  new  activity,  and  the 
introduction  of  alien  modernisms  in  the  shape  of  steam- 
boats and  other  new  industrial  agents  into  her  canals  and 
lagoons.  But  in  this  adoption  of  every  new  development 
of  power  Venice  is  only  proving  herself  the  most  faithful 
representative  of  the  vigorous  republic  of  old.  Whatever 
prejudice  or  even  angry  love  may  say,  we  cannot  cloubt  that 
the  Michiels,  the  Dandolas,  the  Foscari,  the  great  rulers 
who  formed  Venice,  had  steamboats  existed  in  their  day, 
serving  their  purpose  better  than  their  barges  and  peati, 
would  have  adopted  them  without  hesitation,  without  a 
thought  of  what  any  critic  might  say.  The  wonderful  new 
impulse  which  has  made  Italy  a  great  power  has  justly  put 
strength  and  life  before  those  old  traditions  of  beauty  which 
made  her  not  only  the  ''  woman-country"  of  Europe,  but  a 
sort  of  odalisque  trading  upon  her  charms  rather  than  the 


382  THK  MAKERS  OF  VENICE. 

Tiuj'sing  mother  of  a  noble  and  independent  nation.  That 
in  her  recoil  from  that  somewhat  degrading  position  she 
may  here  and  there  have  proved  too  regardless  of  the  claims 
of  antiquity,  we  need  not  attempt  to  deny:  the  new 
spring  of  life  in  her  is  too  genuine  and  great  to  keep  her 
entirely  free  from  this  evident  danger.  But  it  is  strange 
that  any  one  who  loves  Italy  and  sincerely  rejoices  in  her 
amazing  resurrection  should  fail  to  recognize  how  venial  is 
this  fault. 

And  we  are  glad  to  think  that  the  present  Venetians 
have  in  no  respect  failed  from  the  love  entertained  by  their 
forefathers  for  their  beautiful  city.  The  young  poet  of 
the  lagoons,  whose  little  sonnet  I  have  placed  on  the  title- 
page  of  this  book,  blesses  in  his  enthusiasm  not  only  his 
Venice  and  her  beautiful  things,  but  in  a  fervor  at  which 
we  smile  yet  understand,  the  sirocco  which  catches  her 
breath,  and  the  hoarseness  which  comes  of  her  acquaintance 
with  the  seas.  But  he  and  his  fellow-townsmen  have  hap- 
pily learned  the  lesson  which  the  great  Dandolo  could  not 
learn,  nor  Petrarch  teach,  that  Venice,  glorious  in  her 
strength  and  beauty,  is  but  a  portion  of  a  more  glorious 
ideal  still — of  Italy  for  the  first  time  consolidated,  a  gre>it 
power  in  Europe  and  in  the  world. 


!IHE   END, 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subjea  to  immediate  recall. 


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General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


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